


Of letting go

by melonbutterfly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2010, Dimension Travel, Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-05
Updated: 2010-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-14 03:50:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonbutterfly/pseuds/melonbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean, Castiel and Sam end up in a world completely different from their own in a most fundamental way, and as they struggle with not being detected and finding a way back, they also have to learn to look beneath the surface. But for Dean, maybe the hardest part of it all is to accept that the way he sees himself is very different from the way others see him, and that they might be closer to the truth than he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of letting go

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Slavery/a person being owned by another person (NOT against their will). To give an idea what that means, the story is set in a sort of BDSM world, but it's pretty tame, meaning there's at most some discussion about the theoretical aspects of it, as well as some bondage.
> 
>  
> 
> "Control is never achieved when sought after directly. It is the surprising outcome of letting go."  
> James Arthur Ray

Dean _hates_ witches, he really does, and now they've got signs of a coven working together with demons on some seriously bad spells with side-effects that disrupt the weather and crops and _moods_ of people (seriously, a whole town of people in a pissy contest? Not to mention that as soon as they get there, they start getting pissy as well? That's the stuff nightmares are made of). Even without that, witches and demons are two of the things he hates most and them working together? It can't be good, that's so far away from good even Cas tucks away his new mission of ridding the world of alcohol by digesting it himself – Dean's never sure if he should tell him to stop, because he understands, he understands – and agrees to work the case with them. He doesn't even tell them that it's wasting time they could use doing something else; probably because he doesn't have an idea what the 'something else' could be either. He still thinks they're insane for intending to ice the devil, but gave up on the search for God. Doesn't seem like there'd be much use in finding him.

After two days of useless research, Dean's just about ready to tell Cas to piss off and go back to drowning himself in alcohol or something; possibly because he's pissed off because everybody's pissed off, and Castiel was pissed off _before_ he came into bumfuck, Nevada, to help them – now his mood is seriously foul, and he and Sam won't stop bitching. Dean's this far from killing somebody, or alternately killing himself to get away from them – except he knows where he'll go then, and this time nobody will come to get him out, except maybe to pressure him into becoming Michael's angel-condom. Compared to that, sitting between a pissy, newly-alcoholic ex-angel and a pissy, ex-demon-blood-addict brother isn't too bad.

But then, as they're exploring an old warehouse that Sam's pretty sure had been the coven's headquarters at some point, except it's completely empty now, Castiel says there has to be some angel magic going on in the witches' spells because there's no other explanation as to why he can't trace _anything_. There must be a layer of angel magic on top to hide the fuckery that they're brewing, according to Castiel, at which point the case officially upgrades from "seriously far away from good" to "seriously abysmal". Dean curses extensively about that – and Sam bitches about Dean's choice of words, as if he's any better – and there might have been something about 'your fucked-up, dumb-ass angel-buddies' in there, a comment Castiel doesn't appreciate _at all_ , and then he's got _two_ people telling him to shut the fuck up, an order he has never dealt with well to begin with.

So it's pretty much their own fault – they had expected a trap at the warehouse only to find it empty, so of course the trap is actually their motel room when they get back, and of course they don't expect anything and walk right into it.

They don't even have time to realize what's going on, to see more than symbols drawn on the walls and floor and ceiling that start to glow as soon as Castiel enters the room before there's a motion that feels like the room sliding one step to the left without them, and then there's a feeling like squeezing and pulling at the same time, and then all of a sudden they're somewhere else.

Neither Sam nor Dean have the time to even take a look around before they have to bend over and lose their just-eaten dinner into the shrubs. Warm fingers brushing the backs of their necks calm their stomachs abruptly, and they're both very thankful for the fact that despite everything, Castiel still has some of his angel powers left.

"What the fuck was that?" Dean asks, wiping his mouth with a paper towel he stole from the diner for whatever reason – not that Sam isn't grateful now as Dean gives him another, when before he had said something about 'kleptomaniac tendencies' and how they were really starting to get on his nerves. But Dean's got more important things to worry about now; he has one hand on the gun tucked under his waistband, but before he knows what's going on he won't pull it out – wouldn't do to stumble over a bunch of officers of the law with a gun at the ready, and you never know what might happen.

Nobody answers his question; Castiel is breathing hard and frowning – he looks weirdly lost, almost freaked out, and that in turn freaks Dean out. Even with a temper, even _drunk_ Castiel had always seemed in control, which is contradictory, but there he goes. Sam just shrugs at him, and they take a look around.

It's dark, almost night, definitely after sundown, and that is the first clue that something is even more wrong than it had seemed at first because, while it had been evening in Nevada, the day had still been bright. They're standing in a spattering of rocks, none bigger or higher than a small car (and man, they make tiny cars these days, it's disgusting), and there are some trees. From what they can see of the terrain in the twilight, it looks like they're standing at the foot of a mountain. "So, we're definitely not in Kansas anymore," Dean says, and he had always wanted to say it and mean it, but only in a theoretical sort of way. Besides, they had been in Nevada before they had been beamed away or whatever happened.

It earns him an eyeroll from Sam and practically no reaction from Castiel, who's staring into nothing. It feels like he's doing some invisible mojo – Dean knows that in the same way he always knows when Castiel is near. If he's trying to swish away, it's not working, which is very worrying. And then, so suddenly Dean flinches, Castiel rounds on them both and says, voice tense, "Dean, Sam, you have to do everything I say."

"What-" Dean starts, but then he hears it: voices in the distance, a group of people nearing. Demons, maybe? A patrol? But how did they know where to find them so quickly? Because if this had been planned like this, there definitely would have been an ambush waiting for them; this area is predisposed for that sort of thing. Something must have gone wrong, maybe with the time frame, and they might be lucky for it.

"Don't say anything unless absolutely necessary," Castiel continues and suddenly grabs Dean's shoulders to catch his eyes. "Dean, you must do everything I say without argument, both of you." The voices come closer, and Castiel lets go, looks at Sam and says, "Do not refute anything I say, and _don't look surprised_ , no matter what I or anyone else says. It's important: all our lives could depend on it. I can keep the situation under control as long as you two play along. I will explain everything to you as soon as possible. Do you understand?"

Dean is seriously freaked out now and, sharing a look with Sam, promises, "Sure. Calm down, Cas, we got it. You're the boss."

Castiel barely has the time to look disproportionally relieved before there are suddenly weapons and lights pointed at them, and a hard voice asks them for identification. Dean's hands twitch with the need to reach for his own weapons, but Castiel had looked so nervous before, and he hasn't said anything about weapons, so, despite how hard it is, he lets him handle it.

Castiel's whole demeanor changes as far as Dean can tell; he can only see his back because Castiel has immediately moved into a protective position, covering both him and Sam. He looks taller somehow, tenser, and his voice is hard too, but calm. "We are who we are," he says. "Who is asking?"

The shapes behind the light – that is all Dean can see of them, the light is blinding him – shift a little, and then they lower their torches to their feet. Dean's gaze sweeps over all of them – nine, pointing weird, vaguely gun-shaped weapons at them that don't look like any gun Dean has ever seen and no, they really aren't in Kansas anymore, what the hell – assessing their firepower and strength. They're outnumbered three to one, something they probably won't be able to deal with – perhaps if they had the element of surprise on their side or if Castiel could knock out half of them with his mojo, but that's something they can't count on anymore. It makes Dean uncomfortable, but he has to admit that a big part of his nervousness comes from _Castiel_ being nervous. Even the night Castiel had thought he would die at the hands of Raphael he hadn't been nervous – come to think of it, that night he _had_ been nervous, but at the whorehouse and the prospect of loosing his virginity to 'Chastity', not at the confrontation with his pissy, arch-angel brother. But this really isn't the time to think about that one.

One of the persons holding a weapon lowers it and takes a step forward: a brown-haired man, smaller than Castiel but with broader shoulders. "I am Jonas," he says. "We are patrolling for Larrin. Identify yourself." He speaks with the air of someone who is used to issuing orders and having them followed, but not like he enjoys it overly so. Dean has met several people in his life just like that, their father included.

"I am Castiel," Castiel says, and he speaks, Dean realizes now, very much like Jonas. "These two are under my protection."

Jonas' gaze wanders over both of them, assessing, but it leaves an uncomfortable tingle in Dean's skin, even when Jonas nods and turns back to Cas. "What is your business in Larrin's land?"

Castiel shifts a little, and when he speaks there's a slight hesitation in his voice. "We appear to be... lost."

"Really. That is fascinating, as you're smack in the middle of Larrin's territory. How did you manage to spend three days getting lost and end up here, not five minutes of a walk away from Larrin's front door?" Jonas seems amused, but Dean knows better than to believe the situation isn't anything but precarious. The people behind Jonas still have their weapons trained on them, and they're definitely not free to go as they please.

"We got lost," Castiel repeats, and his voice is a little harder. Then he takes a step forward and slowly, mindful of the heightening tension, opens his skewed tie completely, rolls it up and puts it in his coat pocket; then he starts undoing the top buttons of his shirt. Dean wonders what the hell he's doing, and his puzzlement only grows when Castiel turns a little and pulls his shirt down to show them something on his biceps, and Jonas immediately straightens, barking a sharp order that has his people lowering their weapons. Then he takes one long look at Castiel and says, almost apologetically, "We will have to take your weapons."

Immediately Castiel starts pulling out the weapons Dean and Sam put on him (so he's got angel-mojo; doesn't mean he should go into a fight unarmed, and besides, even if Cas wasn't going to use them, Dean and Sam certainly would): two guns and a knife. Then he turns around and raises one eyebrow at both of them; his demeanour is nonchalant, but there's a weird urgency in his eyes, along with something close to pleading. Sam and Dean share a look but obediently take out their own weapons; they're considerably better-armed since their lives kind of depend on it. Castiel nods at them once, then faces Jonas again, saying, "Your people may carry them, but not look at or use them."

Another sharp order, and one of the people with Jonas takes off their shirt, made of a soft-looking cloth, and offers it to Jonas, who steps forward and lets Castiel put their weapons into it before tying it closed like a pouch and giving it back to the guy whom the shirt belonged to. Then, with a short "follow me", Jonas and his people take off.

Castiel turns to look at Dean and Sam, his face expressionless but still a little tense. "Come," he says.

Dean and Sam share another look; they're both not happy with this situation because they have no idea what the fuck is going on, not even in the slightest. But Castiel had been almost frantic earlier when he had told them to do everything he told them to and not speak unless necessary, so they follow him without a comment.

*

Jonas leads them to a castle.

Okay, perhaps castle is a little exaggerated, but it's definitely a fucking big building of castle-like proportions, with high walls and made of stone. There aren't any guards, but Dean starts to wonder whether they perhaps had been thrown back in time; he hadn't given that detail much thought before, but Jonas and the eight men and women with him were clad in mostly leather and some natural, cotton-like kind of cloth; no jeans or synthetics anywhere. It seems fantastic, but time travel isn't too new for them anymore, and the castle... Or perhaps these guys are just some kind of cult that believes in going back to nature or something like that.

Which doesn't explain the weapons that look a little but not quite like guns, or the torches. But it might explain the stunt Castiel did with half-undressing and exposing his shoulder; maybe they have some kind of secret identity tattoo or something, and Castiel angel-mojo'd it on himself.

Except the guy doesn't seem to know anything about modern culture, or interacting with humans for that matter. It'd make no sense for him to know something like this unless there's some special clause where angels have to know everything about all the beliefs that aren't Christian. Which doesn't make much sense except in the "know your enemy" sort of way, but for that matter, not much about God and his followers makes sense to Dean.

His theory about some sort of naturalistic sect is blown to hell when the guy, Jonas, enters some kind of alarm code into the hyper-modern looking alarm system; Dean knows enough about those and he knows that this one isn't one you get normally on the market. But, really. These guys are living in a castle with thick, high walls and a very secure looking wooden door; what do they need a security system for? So maybe they're still a sect, only not a naturalistic one. The paranoia seems to be a sure hint.

With one look back at them, Jonas leads them into the castle; the people who were with him vanish down different halls in under a minute, the guy with their weapons included, and they're alone in a corridor with a naked stone floor and walls. There's a sort of light coming off the walls or the ceiling; Dean can't see the source, and their shadows are light and fuzzy, as if it's coming from all sides. Seriously, this is weird.

Jonas leads them into a room with a table but no chairs. "Wait here; Larrin will be with you shortly." With that, he leaves them alone, closing the door after himself.

Dean immediately turns around to Castiel, his mouth already opening, but before he can say anything, Castiel throws him a glance so sharp it leaves the half-formed sentence drying up in his throat. It's a look related to the one Castiel used on him when he told him he could throw him back into hell – the look of somebody who is infinitely more powerful than you, who has no qualms about using that power however they see fit.

O-kay. So they're being watched. Dean throws another look at Sam, who has caught the whole exchange, and Sam raises both eyebrows and leans back onto the table.

They wait, but not actually that long before the door opens again and a woman that reminds Dean uncomfortably of Ellen enters the room. Not because she looks like her, but because she has the same tough air about her. But other than that, they couldn't be less similar physically; the woman has dark skin and curly black hair, braided tightly into a knot at the back of her head. She's wearing leather as well: light brown pants down to her knees, midriff-exposing brown top. She's _hot_ and, had he crossed her path sometime else, he would've been all over her like white on rice. Or at least he should have been.

"So, I hear we have a couple of agents in our midst," she says, sounding slightly amused, and Dean can barely refrain from flinching and intervening. Castiel doesn't know to keep mum about angels and demons, the scene with the policeman had show that, but he had been pretty urgent earlier to make sure Dean and Sam knew to practically not do anything.

"That is true," Castiel says dispassionately, and she smiles. "Will you show me?" she asks – actually asks, not demands to know, and seriously, if Dean isn't told what the hell is going on here sometime soon, he's going to blow. Sam doesn't look too happy either; Dean can see it in the way he shifts ever so slightly from one foot to the other, the tension in his shoulders. She's clearly the one who's more powerful right now, but she acts like Castiel is at least of equal standing, and she hadn't spared more than a glance for Sam and him when she entered, concentrating fully on Castiel. Dean knows, just _knows_ that a lot more is going on beneath the surface than he can even guess.

Castiel reaches for his shirt again that, Dean only notices now, he hadn't re-buttoned after the first time; he doesn't know why, but it bothers him a little. He doesn't think about it much more, though, when Castiel pulls it to the side to reveal a pentagram surrounded by sunrays on his biceps, the same seal Dean and Sam have on their chests. For a moment, Dean has the insane urge to laugh; it's protection against possession, and Castiel is possessing Jimmy. The irony might just about kill him.

Except, of course, Castiel is (or was) an angel and not a demon, so wards against demons don't mean anything to him. And other than the seal, there's something else: the beginnings of another tattoo, dark blue lines that reach over into the dip of his shoulder. Dean has no idea what it is; he can see only the tips of it, the rest seems to be on Castiel's back. He only knows it definitely wasn't there... well, he doesn't actually _know_ it wasn't there before, but Jimmy Novak certainly hadn't seemed like the kind of guy to get a tattoo, especially not a pentagram, that many people mistake as a sign of evil.

However, just the tips of whatever picture Castiel had magicked onto his skin don't seem to be enough for the woman; she looks at them for a long moment and then meets Castiel's eyes; for a moment, they're both still. Then she says, "The rest too, please. I have to be sure with this sort of thing; I'm sure you understand."

Castiel just pulls the shirt out of his pants and undoes the rest of his buttons, including the ones on his wrists, and lets first his coat and then the shirt slide off his shoulders. In a casual gesture, he hands both coat and shirt over to Dean, who takes them quickly, almost automatically, concentrating more on watching both the woman out of the corners of his eyes and looking at Castiel, who turns to reveal his back and a relatively big tattoo on his shoulders. Unfolded wings whose tips reach around his shoulders and almost dip into his collarbone. For the first time, Dean seriously wonders about Castiel's wings; sure, he had seen their shadows that day in the barn at their first meeting, but he hasn't thought about them along the lines of wings as such, has taken them as proof that Castiel probably really is an angel and not thought about them any more ever since. But now that he sees the picture on Castiel's skin, he is suddenly struck with wondering if Castiel in his true form even has wings as they are pictured by humans, if they have feathers, what color they are. Do they even have a color? Castiel is probably made of light or something like that, considering the whole halo thing and that even just looking at him burns people's eyes out.

Which, yeah. Not a pleasant line of thought.

The woman looks at Castiel's back, and she isn't assessing like someone would an ID, which Dean had assumed the tattoo was of sorts; she is... Dean is startled to realize that she is _checking Castiel out_ , and he frowns. It doesn't make him any happier when Castiel turns around again but doesn't take back either shirt or coat, though at least the woman stops staring at him like she is about to jump him. Instead, she nods and then looks at Sam and then Dean, the corners of her mouth twitching. At least she doesn't check them out as well.

"I am Larrin," she says, turning back to Castiel, who nods and says, "I am Castiel. These two are mine."

She nods again, then raises an eyebrow. "I heard you were lost."

"Yes." Castiel pauses. "We appear to be. We were... somewhere else but got sent here."

"By accident," she remarks. It's not a question, but Castiel nods anyway.

"Naturally."

She is silent for a moment, then seems to come to a conclusion. "You may stay here," she says, "until you find a way back. You are under my protection."

Some of the tension seeps out of Castiel's neck, but Dean isn't sure even Sam notices, much less the woman. "Thank you," he says, then reaches for Dean without looking, puts his hand on his shoulder. "This is Dean," he introduces and tightens his fingers on his shoulder. Dean isn't sure what that means, if Castiel wants him not to say anything or to be careful with what he says, and so he just nods at her. She nods back and smirks slightly, but it doesn't seem like he has done anything too wrong. Castiel's hand relaxes but doesn't move away; Dean kind of doesn't mind, even while in a way, he does. He isn't sure what the gesture means, though; so far, Castiel has told somebody else that Dean and Sam were "his" twice, and it seems to be important.

"This is Sam, Dean's brother," Castiel continues, but doesn't reach out to touch Sam. "He is under my protection."

"Uncollared?" the woman asks, raising one eyebrow, and Castiel hesitates, then says, "Widowed." Sam takes a surprised breath and quickly drops his gaze but doesn't say anything, and her features soften as she nods.

"I gather you don't have anything with you." She changes topics with a sensitivity Dean is sure Sam would have appreciated five years ago. If Castiel even referred to Jess; with him, it's kind of hard to tell. It might be some kind of protection for Sam that Castiel made up, and technically, Sam isn't a widower anyway; he and Jess were never married, might never have gotten married either way. Not that there is any use thinking about it now, but Dean has always been kind of bugged by the girl in his little brother's life that had apparently replaced the family Sam had had, that he had never known. Which probably doesn't make him a good person and certainly not a good brother, but he's a little past that now anyway.

"No," Castiel affirms, and Larrin nods and tells them she will have some clothes sent to them. Food also, and something to drink. "It's actually the middle of the night," she explains drily. "You'd probably appreciate a clock too. Come to me tomorrow, and we can talk about what you will need to find your way back to wherever you need to go. Follow me; I'll show you your rooms." But she doesn't immediately lead the way; glancing at Sam, she fixates on Castiel and asks softly, "Will he require separate quarters?"

Castiel hesitates, and she suggests, "I can also offer you quarters with two separate rooms for sleep. They are usually reserved for families, but we aren't suffering a shortage of rooms at the moment."

"That would be... perfect," Castiel agrees, and she nods, then finally turns around and leads them out into the corridor again, up a set of stairs and then around a couple of turns that Dean makes sure to remember. He's pretty sure he manages, even though the corridors all look the same – but he's had to get a good sense of direction pretty early on to make sure he and Sam got to school and back to the motels without getting lost, and also to get food and other necessities. Besides, needing to re-orient in countless generic schools certainly helped.

They walk by several doors, windows, and staircases; Dean sneaks glances out of the windows, but as it's still dark, he doesn't see anything. The halls are all lit by that soft, greenish kind of light that Dean noticed at the beginning; not bright enough to blind, but not so dark it creates unlit corners. They don't run into anyone on their way.

At one door that looks pretty much like the others, Larrin halts, pulls out a card, and inserts it into the slot that Dean has seen on almost all the doors, instead of locks. The door opens, and she enters and turns to what probably is another alarm system on the wall next to the door; Larrin types away on it for a moment before taking a step back. The light in the room switches on seemingly of its own volition; either that or she entered some sort of command into the alarm system. Suddenly, there is a warm hand in the small of his back and Castiel pushes him into the room, then motions Sam inside – without touching him, Dean notices – and follows them in.

It's a not too big room; not actually tiny but relatively small, holding only a table and some chairs as well as a shelf made of stone embedded into the wall above the table. There are three more doors on the opposite side, and a window. It's certainly not luxurious, but since there isn't anything else inside, it doesn't have much chance to be shabby either, not that Dean isn't used to shabby. It seems to be pretty much the default state for most motels of America.

"I will have someone bring you food," Larrin says, but Castiel shakes his head.

"That is not necessary. We can eat in the morning."

She doesn't comment on it, not even with an expression, only nods. "Tomorrow morning, then." Pulling another card out of her back pocket, she hands it over to Castiel. "This is your key. I will send someone to find some clothing for you, and also, collars." She hesitates, but Castiel looks relieved and nods, saying "That would be much appreciated. However, at this point I do not have access to my accounts, so I cannot pay for them."

Larrin waves that away. "No demon should remain uncollared any longer than absolutely necessary."

Right. Dean has no idea what the fuck she's talking about, but he has a feeling she's referring to him and Sam, and that he won't like it once he knows what she means. Not to mention that he does _not_ appreciate being called a demon, thanks.

"Yes," Castiel agrees. "However, it was necessary for our... mission."

"Still," Larrin says, "you are not on that mission any longer, are you?"

"We are not officially off mission until we return or call in," Castiel replies blandly, then tilts his head. "However, we have no business here, and I greatly appreciate your kindness."

She smiles then. "I'd be uncomfortable as fuck if my demons were uncollared anywhere, even if I were with them." Not waiting for Castiel's reply, she nods and wishes them a good night before exiting, closing the door after her firmly.

For a moment they all keep still, but then, as the tension drains almost imperceptibly out of his body, Sam and Dean round on Castiel, opening their mouths at the same time to undoubtedly ask the same question: what the hell is going on?

But Castiel raises his hand to stop them, and Dean grits his teeth but stays silent, as does Sam. They share a look, then silently watch as Castiel walks around the room, touching each wall once, staring out of the window for one long moment, then opening the first door and vanishing into the room there, probably to do the same. Dean leans over to glance into the room, but he can only see the corner of a bed and more empty walls before Castiel comes out again, leaving the door half-open, and enters the room in the middle. Of that, Dean can only see bare walls, even though he has a better view; there's just nothing to see except for Castiel touching the walls. Dean wonders if he's doing some kind of angel mojo stuff, but he can't feel anything, so he can't be sure. The third room Castiel checks out is another bedroom; Dean can see the bed and another empty shelf embedded into the wall.

Then Castiel comes out of the room, takes one look at them and says, "It is time to explain."

Sam and Dean share another look, and Dean can see the unspoken "finally" in his brother's face, but Sam thankfully keeps silent and doesn't interrupt. Dean learned that Castiel really doesn't like to be interrupted, or questioned for that matter (which usually only means that Dean will do it all the more on purpose, but now is not the time).

Castiel takes a breath, leans back onto the table – and his chest is still naked; Dean doesn't know why, but that keeps bothering him. He can only barely refrain from holding out Castiel's shirt and coat for him to take and put on. Instead, he puts them on a chair and crosses his arms.

"We... are in what you would call a parallel universe," Castiel says, speaking slowly and thoughtfully, as if he doesn't quite know how to explain something that he has never had to explain. And, considering the content – parallel universes? He certainly hasn't. As far as Dean knows, it's an idea of science fiction; bearded alternate evil personae come to his mind.

"Wait, wait," he says quickly. "Does that mean that we're going to run into a version of ourselves? Or that we're in the bodies of our other selves and somebody else is walking around in my body someplace else?" _That_ would bother the fuck out of him. Sure, he has thought about it more than once, somebody else possessing his body; in his profession, exorcising demons and dealing with the aftermath is not unusual, and then there's the part where Michael is really hot for his meatsuit, but this – this didn't even involve consent, or the chance of warding against it with tattoos or stubborn refusal.

"No," Castiel says blankly, as if he doesn't know what he's talking about. Which he probably doesn't. "At the very beginning of humanity, there were only Adam and Eve." He starts telling the story. "They were content in paradise until-"

"Until the snake came and talked Eve into eating the apple, yeah, we know that," Sam interrupts and rubs a hand over his face. "We read the bible, Cas. Please, just tell us what the hell is going on here."

Castiel looks very unimpressed and gives Sam a hard look before continuing as if he hadn't said anything. "-until Eve was talked into taking a bite from an apple of the tree of knowledge by Lucifer in the guise of a snake. My brothers and sisters and I were watching, and something happened that we hadn't known to expect; the universe split into two, two different worlds. One where Eve had taken the apple, and another where she hadn't, where she had refused the temptation and where Adam and she were still living in happy ignorance."

Castiel gives them a moment to take that in, and Dean's mid races through the possibilities of that. Before he can form any concrete questions, though, except for the ones previously asked already, Castiel continues.

"We had not expected that, naturally, and our father did not explain why he had arranged it so, but the result is that now, there are countless parallel universes that have at one point in history departed from the original timeline."

"But we are from the original timeline, right?" Sam says, sounding troubled.

"Yes," Castiel affirms. "The original timeline is the one that directs them all. Our father determines which decisions open way to two different outcomes; otherwise, every time in every universe that a person makes a decision, several different realities would spring up in which that person made another choice, which brought upon changes of varying degree. It would be impossible to keep track of all of them. Your timeline, the world you live in, is the only one that gives birth to new reality, and also the only one that angels and demons are allowed to enter; the others we are merely able to observe."

Well, fuck. Dean has wished more than once that he had been born in a different life, but never as much as now. If there's other Deans that could've taken care of this whole mess... but it had always been him, Michael had said; it had always been him and Sam. If there were other Sams and Deans somewhere, why hadn't Michael- right. Because neither angels nor demons have access to these parallel universes. It pisses him off.

"We will not meet a different Dean or Sam in this place," Castiel continues. "This parallel timeline departed from the original timeline pretty early on and is different to yours in several basic ways." He pauses, seems to think carefully about what he's about to say, or how to explain; Dean doesn't care. He knows it's important, but he's busy not losing his temper at the unfairness of it all. He never asked for any of this; he's never wanted to be important or special. He just wanted to live his life, preferably with his family intact.

But, well. On the other hand, he isn't sure he'd be able to trust anyone else to handle it, and besides, that ship sailed a long time ago. Long before Dean was even born, if Michael is to be believed.

"In which basic ways is this world different, Cas?" Sam asks carefully when Castiel doesn't continue. Dean is glad he at least isn't saying stuff like "this is impossible" and "how".

Castiel tilts his head thoughtfully, then says, "It is... in your timeline, females are often viewed as inferior. Your world is separated by stereotypes named 'male' and 'female', regardless of the fact that these lines blur even in your world. You have difficulties accepting when someone who is apparently 'female' displays attributes that you originally assigned to the label 'male', and the other way around is even harder for you to accept. In this world, that is not the case."

They're silent again, both Dean and Sam thinking it over; it's difficult to imagine because they've been raised in certain ways; not just by their father but by the world around them. Dean knows better than to assume all girls are weak, but he does know that physically, they most often are and need his protection. And while they're nice to be in loose relationships with, he has learned the hard way not to trust a girl he doesn't know very well and that even if he thinks he does, he can be wrong.

Which, yeah. He knows is a stereotype and he's been burned and all that, but it's a fact that most of his life, as a child, growing up and as a young adult, he hasn't had a female in his life except for flings at school. Not even Ellen; he trusts her, but he hasn't actually known her personally for that long.

"So..." Sam tilts his head. "In this world, they have no male-female stereotypes; is that what you are saying?"

Castiel nods. "Yes. In this world, the stereotypes are based on sexual identification."

"...what?" Dean blurts because he has no idea what the fuck that even means.

Sam seems to not know either; he's wearing his confused face and furrowing his brows. "You mean homosexuality?"

"No. The concept of homo- or heterosexuality as they are defined in your world do not exist in this world." Castiel tilts his head, thinking about his words again, and explains further. "As you would probably put it, in this world most everyone is bisexual. Of course there are a few exceptions and people who prefer mainly one gender to the other, but it is by far not as distinctive as in your world. This world is operating mainly on the concepts of one or more submissive partners in a relationship with usually one partner who dominates," Castiel says. "It is the concept of preferring to be dominated or to be the dominating partner in a private relationship."

Sam looks completely confused at that explanation. "What does that mean?" he asks, and Dean sighs. He knows the concept, has played around a lot in the bedroom and tried out many things. He can't say he has tried everything by far, mostly because he's sure he doesn't even know everything that exists in the world (doesn't even want to, actually), but he knows enough to at least have an inkling of what Castiel is talking about.

"He means..." Frustrated because he can't find the words to explain, Dean runs a hand through his hair and throws Castiel a helpless look; Castiel doesn't deign to help him, though. Actually, he seems to be as curious how he intends to explain as Sam, which abruptly makes him realize what it tells about him that he understands. But to hell with it; he has never had much shame about the sex he's having or has had, and there's no point changing that now. "Sex slaves," he says, and Sam's mouth drops open, then he blushes a deep red and quickly averts his gaze. "That's what you mean, right?" Dean addresses Castiel. "You said 'in a private relationship', so they're not real slaves, are they?"

"Yes." Castiel tilts his head. "By that reasoning, yes. It is, however, entirely voluntary."

"That's what you meant when you told them we were yours," Dean realizes aloud. At least that part of Castiel's interaction with the people here makes sense now. "You told them I was-" Oh.

Sam frowns. He's still blushing, but at least he manages to talk about this like an adult person. "Why? Why couldn't we just be, you know, dominant people as well? Why did you tell them I was widowed?"

"Because if I hadn't told them you were both under my protection, they would have expected you to speak and interact, and there was not the time to educate you both on how to act in this world without arousing suspicion," Castiel says calmly. "By claiming you both as my possessions, any problem or suspicion anyone has with either of you will have to go through me."

"What do you mean, possessions?" Dean asks sharply. That sounds certainly like it means more than just private sex in the bedroom. It sounds like real, actual slavery.

"I claimed you both so I could protect you better," Castiel explains. "In this world, the act of collaring a person – a submissive partner wearing a collar with their dominant partner's name on it and symbolically handing over some of their rights to that partner out of their own free will and by their own decision – means absolute protection for the collared person. I told them you, Dean, are wearing my collar and that Sam is widowed and under my protection; his partner died and he hasn't yet taken off his or her collar, and to protect him you, as his brother, asked me to put him under my protection so he would not have to worry about anything."

Sam frowns at that, and Dean completely understands. He doesn't like this, doesn't like it at all. A person being owned by another person? That's just wrong. Sure, there are sex games, and those are fun, but out of the bedroom? Everybody should have the freedom to take care of themselves. But when Sam opens his mouth, he doesn't say any of that; he says, "If angels and demons can't come into the parallel universes, how come we are here?"

Castiel frowns at that and admits, "I don't know. It doesn't make sense; it shouldn't be possible. The only possible explanation is that you and Dean are humans, so the rule might not apply to you. And I'm not a real angel anymore – it's weak, but there's no other way how this could have worked."

Dean sighs. "But let me guess: since nobody knows how to access these parallel universes, you have no idea how they did it."

Not looking happy about it in the least, Castiel reluctantly nods. "Yes."

"Does that mean we can't get back?" Dean prods further. He doesn't like it at all when Castiel hesitates to reply.

"It means it will be... difficult to find a way." He tilts his head. "I am also not at all sure this was even what they planned; perhaps they intended to send us someplace else but did something wrong."

Dean snorts. "You mean they meant to send us to Timbuktu or something?"

"Hell would be my guess," Castiel explains calmly, raising one eyebrow. "The kind of magic needed to send someone to a different location is entirely different. It is also possible they meant to send us someplace and sometime else; inventing and combining spells is very delicate and difficult."

"So you have no idea how we got here," Sam sums up, frowning.

"And no idea how we can get out of here again?" Dean adds, and it's not really a question, but Castiel nods anyway.

"Damn," Dean curses and turns away from both Castiel and Sam, hands balled into fists. This – this is the kind of situation he hates; where he can't do anything, where there really is no way out, where he's got to rely on somebody else. And he certainly can't do anything himself; this involves high-level angel- and demon-mojo, and while he may know some about demon magic, he certainly doesn't know enough, and can't practice anything. Forty years in hell weren't enough by far to learn anything useful except-

Yeah, right, he's not thinking about that.

"So what is the plan?" Sam asks into the silence.

"Keep quiet," Castiel replies. It sounds a little like he's shrugging, even though Dean knows he isn't; Castiel seems to be pretty much oblivious to the finer points of human interaction and, considering, he probably hasn't much experience. "They can not notice we are not from this world. I have no idea what they would do, but it would probably be none too helpful. We have to try to find out what the demons were trying to do to us, and find a way back."

Sam snorts. "Right. How are we going to do that?"

"I will draw all the symbols and circles I saw in the room, and we will try to find out what they mean and which spells might have been involved additionally. When we know what we're dealing with, we'll have a higher chance of figuring out how to reverse it."

"What is that thing?" Dean suddenly asks and turns around. When the change of topic only earns him a puzzled expression, Dean motions towards Castiel's naked upper body, the lines tattooed into his skin. "What's that about? They all just... it's like you showed them some kind of ID or something. That chick called you an agent. How come?"

"That..." Castiel tilts his head. "...is an accurate analogy. She called me an angel because of the anti-possession-seal; in this world, it is a mark to identify an agent, which is... a sort of police officer, I guess."

"Okay, so they think you're a police officer." Dean furrows his brows. "And what's with the wings? Do they have anything to do with that?"

"Not exactly, but they play into it as well. In this world, a person's status is defined by... how well-trained they are. There are countless so-called pleasure houses all over the world, and a person who... graduates earns a certain degree, depending on how long they trained, and is marked accordingly. Each house has their own distinct kind of mark, and usually, the more elaborate, the better-trained a person and consequently, the higher their status." Castiel pauses, licks his lips and then continues to explain, "One thing all the parallel universes have in common, apart from the same point of origin, is that they all have some kind of... legend or belief-system based on the basic knowledge of God, the devil, angels, and demons. It is not necessarily or always the basis for a religion as you know it, but... it is known of. We are not sure why it is so, but these parallel universes do have prophets who tell the stories of what happened or is happening in the original timeline. Sometimes, these prophets are heard; sometimes, they are not. They do exist, though. In this world, the idea of angels and demons was adopted almost two thousand years ago by one of the first pleasure houses in Rome that is called Heaven. It is the oldest pleasure house in the modern world, and it started the tradition of calling dominants 'angel' and submissives 'demon', which was soon adapted by the rest of the world."

Dean blinks at that and, unable to help himself, starts laughing. It's just too hilarious – that, and he might be getting slightly hysterical. "Are you saying that, in this place, angels spank demons?"

Sam snorts, and Castiel blinks slowly. "Yes." He waits until Dean calms down, then continues to explain, undeterred. "Heaven marks its trained dominants with wings of varying size – a mark like mine indicates that I am a master of the house. Submissives of Heaven are marked with a different type of wings. It is a highly prestigious house, and its inner workings are kept highly secret by its graduates and members, which allows for us to claim to be part of it without anybody being able to dispute the claim. Unless, of course, they're a master as well and go through the trouble of contacting Heaven to make inquiries about us, but we are trying to prevent anyone from becoming suspicious enough of us to do that."

"Sure," Dean says weakly and closes his eyes for a moment. All his previous amusement is gone; this is all just too much. He doesn't understand that submissive dominant business at all, much less this talk about Houses and marks and all that. How the hell are they supposed to blend into this world that they don't understand at all? Sure, he and Sam at least have a lot of practice at subterfuge, but this is different – this is a whole different reality, and a completely fucked up one at that. Seriously, angels and demons in a sort of sex game revolving around bondage? It's funny, yes, but Dean's completely out of his depth.

"Perhaps," Castiel says slowly after looking at Dean for one long moment – Dean can feel his gaze, just knows without even needing to look, "you should... go to sleep. Take some... downtime."

"Yeah, a couple hours of sleep are probably best," Sam agrees; he sounds tired, wrung-out, like somebody who had the rug pulled out from under them – like someone whose complete world has been shaken up, which, yeah. Is totally the case, actually. Except that this is not them talking to somebody who has just found out that angels and demons are real; this is them in a completely different _reality_. It's mind-boggling; sleep is probably the best for now. Or at least some time to think; Dean doesn't know how much sleep he will be able to get in this strange place, knowing that he isn't even in the same reality anymore.

Then, of course, a new issue arises. Though at least it's a trivial one; Dean should probably be thankful for that.

"So, uhm. Where are we going to sleep?" Sam asks after having poked his head into all three rooms. He turns to Castiel. "Do you even need to sleep?"

"I do..." Castiel purses his lips. "Nowadays, a few hours of rest are preferable." He doesn't elaborate, and they don't ask. Castiel's waning powers are, understandably, a very sore point; Sam never talks about it, and Dean only when absolutely necessary, and then very carefully. And not only because Castiel is none too happy about it, but because Dean hates it too; hates being confronted again and again with what the angel gave up for him, and how in vain it had turned out in the end.

"Soooo..." Sam stretches out the word; he does that when he feels like being particularly annoying. Dean shoots him a nasty glance, then goes to check out the three rooms as well – they're all pretty barren, two almost identical bedrooms with two sets of shelves on each side embedded in the wall and rather big beds with posts and elaborate bedrests with loops and holes; he carefully doesn't think about why those are necessary in a world where people like to be or keep slaves for fun. The room in the middle turns out to be a weird bathroom with a bathtub embedded in the floor and something that probably is a toilet, but looks strange too. Which is only logical, considering, but isn't something he expected.

"I guess you'll take the one on the left and we'll take the one on the right?" he decides after his short inspection, and both Sam and Castiel simultaneously raise their eyebrows at him.

Dean bristles. "What? I thought we were supposed to be, you know, in this weird kind of relationship, and Sam is 'widowed' or whatever, so you two can't exactly share. There's only two beds, but they're big enough to share, unless one of you wants to sleep on the floor."

"No, no." Sam quickly shakes his head and waves the idea away. "I just thought you'd be more, you know, opposed to the idea of sharing a bed with Cas."

Dean snorts. "It's Cas." Which settles it all for him. He and Sam had shared places to sleep before too, when they had been younger, had shared the backseat or beds in motel rooms those nights their father had been there as well. It wasn't such a big deal.

Sam snorts back. "Right. I'll leave you to it, then."

"Sam," Castiel calls out right before Sam closes the door. "Do not sleep for long. There is much you need to know before you can safely interact with the people of this world."

Sam mock-salutes and vanishes into the room on the left, the one with the window; Dean would have preferred that one because he feels safer knowing his surroundings, but with Castiel in his room he's got an advantage anyway. Angel-mojo, even reduced, beats window-view hands down.

He sighs and trudges over into the other room; there isn't much to do as preparing for bed goes seeing as they don't have anything on them except their clothes, and so all he can busy himself with is inspecting the room more closely, testing out the bed – not exactly soft, but not uncomfortably hard either; it's not really bouncy and doesn't dip much under his weight. It's on a sort of stone pedestal without any space beneath. The embedded shelves are completely empty, and they seem to be used as closets here because Dean can't find anything else to store things in – not that they have anything to put away to begin with.

After he has inspected their bedroom – and that's weird, to call it his and Cas' bedroom; it somehow feels different than the countless motel rooms he and Sam shared – he goes to explore the bathroom. He feels wired; he went into the trap gunning for a fight, and that he didn't get anything remotely like it leaves his nerves thrumming, makes him restless and impatient. Sam probably feels the same; he got into the bathroom first but left the door open, and when Dean enters the room he looks up and says, "Dude, you gotta check this out. It's like a litter box for people!"

There's what looks like sand in the toilet instead of water, and Dean has no idea how the fuck that is supposed to work; sand can only fall, and it's bound to clog up somewhere. Especially considering the things people throw into toilets. But it obviously has to work somehow; otherwise those people wouldn't use them like this and use water instead.

"Did you try it out yet?" he asks, and Sam shakes his head. He won't while Dean is there either; he's got a weird thing where he can't pee if somebody else can hear. Dean has no idea how he survives toilets in bars, but whatever. It's not his problem.

Apart from the toilet and another embedded, empty stone shelf, there's only the bathtub left to check out; it has steps that lead down into it like a sort of pool, except that it's not as big. It's not really wide either, more deep; there's not enough room to actually lie in the tub, it'd be more like sitting straight. There's nothing that looks like a shower head or could function as one, and the water seems to be coming from a hole in the wall – or at least that's the only place where they can imagine it coming from. There's another hole at the bottom of the tub with a sort of wood plug in it where the water most likely drains away, and they can't tell where the controls that switch on the water flow are. Altogether, it's really fucking weird, and Dean has the sinking feeling that they're going to smell for a couple of days until they can figure out how this works.

"There's no sink or anything here," Sam says; he sounds excited, like he's just found a promising lead to a case, which makes Dean wonder how far gone he actually is. Seriously, this is just a bathroom – a pretty weird one at that.

"Let's go check the one in the other room!" Sam continues and bounds out of the room. Dean sighs and follows him and scowls as he finds that there's a sink in the corner of the main room, next to the door. He hadn't noticed it when they had entered, which means he's slipping, and that pisses him off.

The sink, at least, looks mostly like a normal sink; it's round and relatively flat, and while it's carved into a block of stone, at least there is something like a tap, a sort of drain. But, again, they can't find how to switch it on, and Castiel doesn't seem to know either, and neither do they know how to work the security system of the room – it doesn't look at all like anything Dean has ever seen, and he's supposed to be the expert. They stay far away from it, and Castiel appears confused as to what it even does. It appeases Dean a little; he had been a little peeved that Cas seems to know more about another world's society than theirs, and this at least shows that he doesn't know that much either.

Sam seems to be on the same page as Dean with that because, as the three of them stand in front of the sink and stare at it, he suddenly asks, "Hey, Cas, how come you know so much about this world? Because, I mean," he coughs uncomfortably, "you don't seem to know that much about our world."

Castiel gives him one of his usual dispassionate looks and says, "We watch, Sam. It's all we do unless our father wants us to do anything else – but most of the time we watch. We have a lot of time to do that, too; some of us think that that's the reason we exist – to observe and remember. The differences between the various parallel universes are quite fascinating. A sister of mine was very fascinated with this world in particular, because there is no other like it, and discussed the dynamics and workings with me quite often."

Dean blinks. "So you mean this is like angel TV? Stare at parallel universes and chat about which one is weirder?"

"They are different," Castiel replies thoughtfully. "Not weirder or better or worse than yours."

"But they're not the same. Do you think they are like... experiments?" Sam theorizes, sounding thoughtful as well. "If these people don't go to hell or heaven, they must be less important than the people of our reality, right?"

Castiel hesitates, then evades. "We never... speculated about His intent, about the purpose of these worlds. We only watch."

"And occasionally do what He tells you to do, no questions asked, right?" Dean says sarcastically and, if he's honest with himself (not something he often is, he is aware), bitterly. But he's got a right to be bitter considering all the shit he went through because some asshole couldn't stand up and make sure his sons' idiotic fights didn't get innocent bystanders involved. Dean's collateral, he knows that, and fuck if he's going to just accept it.

"As you have apparently forgotten," Castiel replies sharply, "I am not on His payroll anymore." Then he turns and storms out of the room into the bedroom, leaving a sharp pang of something behind.

"Did he just make a joke?" Sam asks, sounding both confused and disturbed, and Dean snorts out a laugh, shakes his head, and pats his brother on the shoulder. "Good night, Sammy," he says, then follows Castiel, leaving the door slightly ajar so he'll hear if anyone comes in.

Castiel is lying on the bed on top of the comforter, arms at his sides and except for his still naked upper body, he's completely clothed – he's even wearing his shoes. If this were Sam's bed, he'd get a serious chewing out for that; there's nothing Sam hates more than shoes on his bed (the funny thing about that is that Sam tends to forget that himself from time to time, so Dean can't really take him seriously when he starts bitching about it).

After a moment in which neither of them moves, Dean standing awkwardly by the door, Castiel staring at the ceiling, Dean takes a breath and says, "Listen." At least Castiel turns his head to look at him, even if he doesn't give any other indication that he's interested in what Dean has to say – which he kind of deserves, he knows. "You know I don't mean you when I bitch about your angel buddies, right? I mean, I know they're not your buddies anymore," he hastens to add when Castiel's mouth tightens, "it's just habit, I guess."

Castiel is silent for a moment, but finally, after Dean is just about ready to throw himself out through the door and go sleep with Sam after all, despite how little desire he has to actually share a bed with his giant octopus of a brother, he says, "I would appreciate it if you would stop including me. I'm no angel anymore, and it's next to impossible I'll ever become one again. After all," and Castiel's eyes are suddenly so much more intense than usual, Dean couldn't have looked away if he had wanted to, "I do not refer to you as a member of hell either."

Which is a comparison more apt than Castiel probably wants admit, much less for Dean to point out, and so he just nods, pushes aside the cold shudder that runs through him when he notices that Castiel had called him 'member', not 'inmate', and then quickly changes the topic before this can turn into a serious discussion about feelings or something. "So what's the plan for tomorrow?" It's the first thing he can think of, and belatedly he realizes that he should have asked while Sam is present, and also that they had agreed to continue talking about this after a few hours of sleep.

For one long moment, Castiel doesn't react, doesn't move his stare away; then he blinks and the moment is broken. It impresses on Dean once again that, actually, it's not him who has the control in their interaction most of the time. If Castiel wants to have a moment, they'll have a moment regardless of what Dean says or does – barring Dean saying or doing something completely outrageous, and Dean has learned where that invisible line is with Castiel after the first few times he made Castiel lose his calm. "We will talk tomorrow about tomorrow," Castiel finalizes, then closes his eyes, putting a clear end to their discussion. Dean stands there for another awkward moment, then strides over to the bed and climbs onto the other side – he really has to climb, the beds are rather high here, reaching to his mid-thigh, and he almost blushes when he realizes that it's the perfect height for fucking someone who is lying on the bed. If this were a room in his own world, he might even have gotten someone to try it out with him – or at least he would have a couple of months ago.

It's mind-boggling that it's really only been a couple of months, not even two years, since his life went to hell, both literally and figuratively. But he's not thinking about that, he reminds himself and lies down, staring at the ceiling as well. There's a lot of room between him and Castiel; the beds really are rather big here. For a moment he lies still, wondering about the lack of visible light source – seriously, where's the damn light coming from? it's bordering on being scary – and how to switch the damn light off, then decides that even if he did manage to turn off the light, he probably wouldn't be able sleep. He flops onto his belly and buries his face in his arm, his favorite position to sleep in, and he isn't above pretending.

As he drifts off, he isn't really sure, but of course there really are fingertips on his forehead before he falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.

*

When he wakes up, for a moment he's completely disoriented; not because he doesn't know where he is and this place feels unfamiliar in a totally different way than the thousands of familiarly unfamiliar hotel rooms he had slept in. No, he's disoriented because he's well-rested and actually feeling almost fine, even though he knows he only got a few hours of sleep. He should have had nightmares, or at least woken up at noises that weren't there. But he hadn't.

Then he remembers the fingers on his forehead, and for a moment he wants to fly off the handle because Castiel invaded his privacy; he had no right to just use his mojo on him without asking. They'd even had a talk about that, right along with the talk about personal space, which had proved to be completely useless because Castiel couldn't seem to remember that Dean had a personal bubble, much less that he's not supposed to invade it. But a second later he realizes it's silly to be pissed off for that; he had desperately needed the sleep, and he knows it. And it's not like Castiel knocked him out; he knows how that feels, and that wasn't it, he's almost certain.

"Dean?"

Dean frowns and rolls onto his back, rubs his hands over his face and blinks into the light. They really need to figure out how to turn it off, even if Dean apparently can sleep in it.

"Yeah?" He turns his head and looks at the tall figure that is his brother, who doesn't look all that gigantic from a bed that reaches his mid-thighs.

Sam frowns. "Man, how can you sleep with the lights on? I didn't even doze off; we seriously have to figure out how to operate the lights and the water in this place." He doesn't mention the real reason why he hadn't slept; he didn't have anyone to use their mojo on him, and so he had probably been awake the whole night, thinking about the crap situation they've gotten themselves into once again.

"Yeah," Dean grumbles and sits up, glancing at the empty side of the bed where Castiel had laid. Had he slept? Could he mojo himself to sleep? That was an interesting idea, actually. "What's going on?"

Shrugging, Sam walks out of the room. "Nothing. You coming? Castiel wants to explain more stuff to us."

Dean groans at the prospect of no coffee, but rolls off the bed and follows his brother into the main room, where one look out of the window tells him that it's early morning, still almost dark but the sky getting brighter. Castiel is already sitting at the table, once again wearing his shirt and coat and tie ensemble, and he looks thoughtful. "Hello, Dean," he says with his usual graveness, and Dean nods at him and slumps into one of the chairs while Sam takes another. "Cas." He doesn't mention the mojo thing. He hadn't asked for it, even if he does appreciate it a little. "Anyone figure out how the toilet works yet?"

"Uhm," Sam says, blushing. "You just, you know, pee in. It's just sand."

Grimacing, Dean nevertheless goes and takes a leak; he has to, and hopefully they'll figure out how these things work before they start to stink.

"So." Sam stretches when Dean comes back and takes his chair again. "What else do we need to know, Cas?"

Castiel frowns. "I'm not really sure. I don't know everything either; most of what I know is what others told me and what I have observed. It's... complicated."

"Okay, let's sum up," Dean interjects when it looks like Castiel is about to start talking about watching again. They already know about that, and it's not going to help them in the situation. Besides, it makes him wonder whether angels watch him shower, and that, just, no. "We, Sam and I, are basically pretending to be your slaves, correct?" And that uncomfortably reminds him of how he had felt in the very early stages of his and Castiel's interaction; he had to do what Castiel said or he'd be sent back to hell. Not that he had, either of them, but that's another matter.

"No." Castiel frowns, but this time at Dean instead of the situation. "You are not slaves. You have the same rights as I do, but you have given yourselves over to me for better protection and given me control over some of them. Out of your own free will."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Fine. So we're your slaves out of our own free will, but we still have to do everything you say."

Frowning, Castiel shakes his head. "It's much more complicated than that. You have to understand that your mannerisms, all unconscious little gestures... the whole way of social interaction you learned is different here. Now, I believe you two are capable of watching and learning how to move in this society without arousing suspicion. You only need to watch carefully."

"Right. So you don't really know either," Dean deduces drily. It's not really a surprise, considering how awkwardly Castiel moves in their world; he doesn't understand any references that don't connect to the bible, and he didn't know scratch about what to say and not to say when interacting with people unless Dean took it upon himself to at least teach him enough so he could move without leaving a trail of very confused people behind. And if he's honest, it's a little relieving; he isn't really comfortable already with the way the powers are shifted here, how much they seem to depend on Castiel and his ability to blend in. At which he isn't really all that skilled, and that should scare him, and it does a little; nothing is the way he's used to here. But it also makes him feel a little better, weirdly.

"No, I don't," Castiel bites back, sounding irritated. "I didn't spend much time observing the finer points of human interaction, before."

Nobody says anything to that, and after a moment of awkward silence, Sam shifts and says, "So what do you know? What do we have to do?"

"You can't touch anyone," Castiel says immediately. "Only family members, which means each other and me, though you, Sam, better not touch anyone but Dean."

Sam nods. "I'm widowed, so I'm still... grieving, right?" He looks uncomfortable with that, and Dean wonders how much he really got over Jessica's death, if at all, or if he just covered the wound and is pretending it's not really there. It's a special Winchester skill, that one.

"More importantly, you're still wearing your dominant's collar. It's... safety, extra-safety, because people should respect your devotion. It's a sign of respect and you not being interested in having sexual relations with anyone." Sam grimaces, and Dean snorts – both because his brother sure isn't interested in any sexual relationships right now either way, with the last one going so spectacularly wrong, and also because he can't imagine Sam doing anything more kinky than- nope, his mind isn't going there. Suffice to say, Sam isn't kinky in the least, and if he is, Dean prefers to live in happy oblivion to it.

It makes Dean wonder, actually, how it comes to be that everyone in this world seems to be kinky – how that works out, and what it says about their own world. Are people in their world a lot more kinky as well and just pretend they aren't for appearance's sake?

"How come you know so much about this world anyway?" Sam asks, obviously to deflect the topic from him having sex to something more safe because he asked that yesterday already. Sam really doesn't like talking about sex, or when Dean talks about it; he's kind of a prude (except for that one time where he seemed to feel the need to tell Dean in detail about the first time he had sex with Ruby, which, yeah, he doesn't like to think about preferably ever). It provided a wonderful opportunity for teasing in the past – in the very distant past, months ago.

Castiel blinks at that, obviously not deeming it too important after he had already explained, and says, "A member of my garrison, a friend of mine, spent a lot of time watching this world. She talked to me about it."

That sparks a very unpleasant thought in Dean. "So, you think she might be watching us right now? Right this moment?"

"No."

Dean scowls at the curt answer. "How can you be so sure? I mean, the seals are all broken so they can't be too busy anymore, right?"

"Because she's dead, Dean," Castiel replies calmly, but there's that tension in his shoulders that tells Dean that this is not something he should push about. So he says nothing, quickly lowers his gaze to the table. Somehow, he keeps forgetting that Cas lost more than just his position and everything it entailed, that he lost things long before he rebelled for Dean.

It's Sam who, again, breaks the silence by coughing uncomfortably. "So we don't touch anyone. What else?"

Castiel tilts his head as he thinks about it. "I don't really..." He furrows his brows. "You shouldn't speak to someone who is on a leash, you'd best not even look at them. You have to be careful with the way you look at people; it might be seen as an invitation, and you don't want to invite anyone to do anything."

Nope, they really don't. Grimacing, Dean thinks about how likely it is that he'll fuck up; the not touching-thing, okay, and also the not speaking to anyone on a leash (and what the fuck is wrong with these people, letting themselves be leashed), but his eyes wander wherever they want, and flirting is practically his default state. He isn't sure he'll manage to control himself constantly.

On the other hand, he hasn't really felt like flirting in a while now and hasn't had sex in even longer; his 'deflowering' with the chick at the Oktoberfest had felt bitter and shallow, like eating paper when you were hungry for steak. It quelled the urge but didn't satisfy; the knowledge of what he was, who he was, how irrevocably hell had changed him overshadowed everything.

"Alright," Sam says, his voice not quite chasing his dark thoughts away but distracting Dean enough to do it himself. He's gotten really practiced at that, too not that it makes it any easier. "So basically, no looking, no touching, and other than that we'll have to watch how other people act and try not to stick out."

"Yes."

"Okay, and what else will we do?" Dean frowns when Sam and Castiel turn to look at him, looking confused. "I mean, how will we get out of here? What do we do? Is there anything we _can_ do?"

Castiel's answer is direct. "Not right now, no. First, we will have to figure out how we got here – as I said, it was supposed to be impossible, so I really have no idea whatsoever how it even came to happen, much less how to undo the spell. Spells."

Dean grimaces. "Then how will we do that? Come on, Cas, give us something here; we can't just sit around and twiddle our thumbs."

"I'm sorry this inconveniences you," Castiel retorts, sounding slightly annoyed. "But there really isn't anything you can do. I will acquire some means to draw a sketch of everything I remember, and if it makes you feel better you can control if I missed anything or you remember differently, but I highly doubt it."

"Dude, chill." Dean raises both hands in a placating gesture. "But won't these people be confused if we don't... do anything?"

At that, Castiel hesitates. "That is... probable. Though the house we are claiming to be part of is known for being mysterious, as far as I know. It is possible that they will find their own explanations."

"That's how you interact with humans most of the time, don't you?" Sam asks curiously. "You let them find their own explanations."

"Yes," Castiel nods slowly, then looks away. "After I learned that faith has left the world in many places, and that they are quicker to believe one is trying to deceive them than telling the truth."

Dean has the uncomfortable thought that he is probably responsible for that particular realization. But on the other hand, better him than anyone else; Cas needs to know these things, and Dean is just trying to keep him safe.

Sam nods and files away that piece of the puzzle that is Castiel; Dean can practically see him thinking 'so that's why', and he doesn't like it, even though he has no idea why. He just doesn't want Sam to think Castiel is that easy to understand; he isn't. Castiel is anything but easy or uncomplicated. "So what will we do with this Larrin chick? She's the boss here, right?" he asks to distract both himself and Sam.

Castiel looks blank.

"Let me guess, you weren't planning to tell her anything?" Dean deduces drily, and Castiel nods, making him snort. "Okay, but we'll have to tell her something, you know that, right? I mean she lets us stay here and, if I got that right yesterday, will give us food and clothes and all that, but she's not going to like it if we stay here and don't give her _something_ , some sort of explanation." Dean knows the type; this is her territory, and she's going to want to know what's going on. If they don't give her a satisfying answer, she's going to try to find out on her own, and that's the last thing they want.

Even with this weird kinky slave thing going on, these people are still humans, and Dean understands humans – or at least their most basic instincts.

Pursing his lips, Sam suggests, "How about we tell her we're... some sort of secret agents or spies or something like that? I mean, Jonas didn't seem too surprised that we popped up out of nowhere, so they have something with magic going on here, right?"

"That is correct," Castiel confirms. "The people here practice minor protection spells and occasionally dabble in bigger spells, not unlike witches, though of course it's mostly unnecessary here since demons have no access to this world."

"Well, that's at least something," Dean says, relieved. "That way they won't be too surprised if they accidentally stumble over something."

Castiel nods, then admits, "I do not know what a secret agent is."

"It's what we did, with the badges? You know, when we were trying to find Raphael and talked to that policeman?" Dean waits until Castiel throws him a glance, looking annoyed probably because Dean assumes he'd forgotten something, before he continues to explain. "Except we weren't secret, we were just agents. Secret agents are people who don't show their badges."

"I don't know if such people exist in this world," Castiel says almost apologetically after mulling over that for a moment, and Dean and Sam frown at the table. That's going to be a real problem; Cas knows enough to get them by, but not so much that they can be sure they're safe. "I also think being an agent should be enough of an explanation for now."

"But you're not sure." Dean questioningly raises an eyebrow.

Castiel shakes his head.

Sam puts on his thinking face; the one that makes him snap at Dean if he interrupts him one time too often and act like Dean is some sort of stupid savage or something, just because he doesn't walk around with his nose buried in a book all the time. "Well, how is this world structured? Do they have a government here like in ours, or is it just lots of places like this one, owned by one single person?"

But Castiel only shakes his head again. "I really don't know."

"Then we'll stick with the story you told her yesterday," Dean says firmly. "We were on a mission and got ambushed and sent here before we could even tell what was going on. She'll make of that whatever she wants, and if she asks for details, you can just do your blank face thing, Cas, and say something like 'I am not at liberty to disclose the nature of the mission'. You can assure her that it's not about her or even about this place or something; it should buy us some time, maybe enough to get us out of here before she's going to ask for more."

"That's... good." Sam has the gall to look vaguely surprised, as if he hadn't been working with Dean for as long as he can remember and knows that Dean isn't just a pretty face. He tends to do that occasionally, it's frustrating.

"If it doesn't work, I might have to get us out of here quickly," Castiel says. "You should try to stay close together."

"Right." Dean grimaces. He hadn't planned to traipse around this place on his own or let Sam wander off; they both can very well defend themselves, but this place is freaking weird and he'd prefer they don't get into any trouble, especially not separated.

"So, the plan is: write down all the symbols and circles of the tap, try to find out what they mean, try to find a way to reverse them or to duplicate the effect so we can get back," Sam sums up.

"Actually, our main plan is to stay undetected," Dean corrects and grimaces. "I really don't want to have to go underground in a parallel universe, Sammy. We don't know anything about this place; everything we know comes from a different world."

"Right." Sam grimaces as well. Castiel stays silent, staring thoughtfully down at the table as if it's going to reveal a perfect solution if he only stares hard enough.

Dean shifts, then sighs and nudges him. "Hey. You'll be alright, right?"

Castiel blinks blankly, as if he doesn't even know what Dean is talking about. Which might just be true, considering.

"I mean it. You're going to have the hardest part of all of us." And isn't that just brilliant; they have to rely on the awkward, people-shy and socially retarded ex-angel to keep them undetected. And as if that weren't enough already, it's also Castiel who has to do the most work about figuring out whatever mix of magic and spells sent them here; sure, Sam and Dean can help, but their expertise pales in comparison to Castiel's. It's a simple fact.

As if he had been reading Dean's thoughts – and that's not entirely unlikely actually, Dean realizes uncomfortably – Castiel does that thing where his face relaxes and it looks like he's smiling, except he isn't. He says, "Yes, Dean. I will be... 'alright'. I am more worried about you two, actually."

"Well, if it gets dicey we'll just make a run for it. You can still do the beaming-thing here, can't you?"

"It's not beaming, Dean, and yes, what is left of my angelic powers is still available to me." Castel sounds annoyed, but he looks a little lighter, so Dean knows it's just bantering. As far as anything Castiel does or says can be called bantering, anyway.

Sam shifts suddenly, and Dean blinks, realizing they just had a _moment_ , retarded staring and all. Great; they really have to stop doing that. "So, what did Larrin say yesterday? Someone will come and bring us food or something, right?"

"Yes. Also, we will be brought clothes if I understood correctly; it appears our current clothing does not agree with this timeline's fashion."

"And she said something about collars," Dean brings up and looks away uncomfortably. That's something he is not looking forward to: getting a collar like a dog. But he'd rather wear that and blend in than have to try to go underground in a world they don't even remotely understand.

Castiel nods a little reluctantly at that. "I claimed you as mine, so you will have to wear a collar with my name on it, Dean, while you, Sam, will wear one with your deceased dom's name. They'll probably not be worth a lot of money or very pretty, because they're only temporary until we, from her point of view, find a way home, where your real collars are."

Dean snorts. "Dude, I don't care how pretty the thing is. A collar is a collar; it won't kill me to wear it if I have to, but I'm not going to enjoy it either."

Sam, uncharacteristically, keeps silent; he's maybe thinking about whose name he's going to put on his collar. Dean remembers that he only knows Jessica's last name because it was engraved on her grave stone, which is depressing.

"So, for now we'll wait, right? Until someone with our food pops up, and probably that Larrin chick as well," he says to cover the part of him that is a bitter, self-pitying asshole.

Castiel raises an eyebrow at him. "Unless one of you has something to write on, yes. Also, I believe Larrin said she'd send someone to get us to her, not the other way around."

Of course none of them have either pen or paper; they were going in gunning for a fight, not research. And perhaps Sam might have been carrying pen and paper even then, a while back, but not now. Not anymore.

They sit around for a while, each dwelling on his own thoughts, until Sam decides to go check out the bathroom again. Dean sighs and slumps a little further in his chair; he's starting to get tired again, and he's still high-strung. It's not left-over adrenaline from yesterday's not-fight, though; it's the general situation that makes him nervous now. He really has no idea how this might go, how they'll manage; he doesn't know the parameters on of how to estimate their situation.

It freaks him out, if he's honest with himself, and right now he feels like having an honest moment. Pretending to be Castiel's sex-slave? In a world of sex-slaves? In an _alternate reality_? Everybody would be nervous in a situation like this, even an angel.

Actually... Dean looks up to find Castiel already looking at him, wearing his usual slightly confused, weirdly intense expression.

"So..." Dean clears his throat and stares down at the table again, absently noticing that the wood really looks just like any other wood from their own reality; he doesn't know why he was expecting something else, and why he notices only now. "How do we have to act to make it believable?"

"I don't know," Castiel replies helplessly. "I really don't... I mostly know facts and personal observations I've been told."

"Right." Watching worlds is probably not that much like watching TV after all, mostly boring moments or something, or at least Dean can't imagine anything else. Life isn't that exciting. On the other hand, it probably is an adventure compared to heaven; he can't imagine what they do there all day, apart from singing hymns and talking about how awesome God is, or something.

Dean used to pick up a lot from TV, he remembers: what families are like, normal families with a mother and a father and a house, children and only one school as opposed to five different schools a year, every year. He learnned how to flirt from TV, and how to better take care of Sammy; how to talk to him about stuff (not that he did too good a job at that anyway) and especially how to cook. Not that any of those fancy cooking shows were much help, but at least he learned what people eat. What normal people eat.

But life isn't a TV show, and so they sit around and wait, and wait some more, try and fail to figure out how the damn water works (Sam even tried talking to the sink, bathtub and toilet each, not that it helped any besides making Dean laugh and Castiel look curious and vaguely disturbed) and after a couple hours there finally is a knock on the door. Dean and Sam sit up straighter, and Castiel throws them a look before opening the door. "Yes?"

A guy looking about as gay as they come beams at him, chirps, "Hi! Larrin sent me; I've got some clothes and other stuff for you!" and waits until Castiel nods and lets him in before he all but skips past him into the room. He's wearing _eyeliner_ at this time of morning, and he's got glittery jeweled rings on his fingers and in his ears, as well as a thick gold collar, adorned with diamonds and with the name 'Denny Espinoza' engraved at the front, around his neck – it's the first collar Dean's seen, he only now realizes. It looks very different from the thick, studded leather dog collars Dean had imagined, though he isn't sure how much of an improvement diamonds and gold are.

Apart from that, he's dressed relatively okay: brown leather pants that are relatively tight, but that's nothing unusual in clubs, and a blue shirt made of cotton. He's carrying a bag, and while he throws both Dean and Sam one curious look when entering the room, he keeps his eyes mostly trained on Castiel after that. Dean has no idea how old that guy even is, and while it's not the first guy in make-up or lots of shiny jewelery he's ever seen, it's still sort of a culture shock.

"Hello," Castiel says in his usual dispassionate voice, and the guy smiles at him again. Dean can't tell if he's flirting; if they were in their world, he would've thought he definitely is, but the guy's demeanor reminds him a little of those chirpy college girls who just are in a chronic good mood (or drunk or high, which is about the same).

"I'm Martin," the shiny guy says, beaming at Castiel, hugging the bag to himself with both arms.

"My name is Castiel," Castiel says, then nods at Dean and Sam. "These are Dean and Sam."

Martin turns around and smiles at them widely. "Hi! I'm Martin!"

"Hey, Martin," Sam says, sounding amused and trying to hide it. Dean keeps it at waving and trying to smile, but probably failing.

Not that Martin seems to notice; he just turns back to Castiel and says, "You're probably dying to get out of your clothes from yesterday. I have a couple of different sizes here; Larrin isn't too good at guessing." He throws a look at Sam, and Dean can only imagine what Larrin said about his freakishly tall brother. "Just try what suits you best, and when we know what fits I'll go find more, okay? I also have packed some soap and towels and other essentials in a bag in there, whatever I thought you might need."

"That will be fine, thank you," Castiel says gravely and takes the bag the guy holds out. Dean's got to remember to tell him to loosen up some before he starts to freak anyone out.

"Good," Martin chirps, and all that good mood is starting to give Dean a serious toothache. "Then I'll leave you to it and go get some food, alright? Are there any preferences of what you want or anything I shouldn't get, any allergies or something?"

Thankfully, Castiel reins the confused look Dean can see looming in before it breaks out, and he merely shakes his head and thanks Martin again, who happily bounces out of the room. Sam and Dean share a _look_ while Castiel closes the door, and Sam blows out a breath and grimaces. "We don't have to act like that, do we?"

Castiel blinks as if he hasn't even noticed anything amiss; he probably hasn't. Dean barely refrains from facepalming when he says, "I don't know what you mean."

Sam snorts and waves it away. "So what have we got in that bag?"

Castiel shrugs and puts it on the table; Dean sighs, opens it and upturns it on the table. Out come a couple of clothes of various colors, made of leather and cotton, as well as some towels and a washbag containing soap, a small pot of what looks like lotion, some really weird-looking roots that Sam excitedly informs them are for teeth cleaning (there's also some talk about Africa in there, Dean doesn't pay attention), and lube. After that discovery, they quickly move on to the clothes pile; Dean wonders why they even have to put on any of these things, but when he asks, Sam just throws him one of his looks and points out the obvious. They want to blend in as much as possible, considering their circumstances, and if these people think they need new clothes, then they're going to put on new clothes.

And that's what they do. It seems like the people in this world either don't believe in underwear or didn't think to include any; Dean and Castiel keep their boxers and briefs respectively, but Sam is being a sissy about wearing underwear for more than two days if not absolutely necessary and decides to go commando. There actually even are pants long enough to fit his freakishly long legs; they're made of cotton and of a weird dark brown color, but that's actually not too far from what Sam likes to wear. Dean and Cas take soft, black leather pants that almost fit, and all three of them put on cotton shirts. The pants aren't buttoned but get closed with ties at the sides; the shirts look pretty much like regular long shirts, except for the wider necks, probably to show off collars better. All in all, they don't look too weird – well except for Cas, whom Dean is used to seeing in his tax accountant look with suit and coat – and don't feel too uncomfortable either. There are some more pieces of clothes that'll fit; actual except for one pair of pants that is too small, all of them fit at least one of them. These people seem to mean very well with Sam; there's a couple of really big shirts and pants, and the pieces of clothing that are too small for Sam at least loosely fit Dean, and the ones that are too small for Dean fit Castiel. It's really practical actually.

After they're done sorting through the clothes, they sit around and wait for Martin to come back; after a few minutes, Sam starts folding his clothes, then Dean's and then Castiel's. He tends to do that when he's nervous, do domestic stuff like clean up or do laundry. It had actually been Sam who had mostly taken care of keeping their motel room straight after he had gotten old enough. Just when Sam is about to get up and sort the clothes into the shelves in the bedrooms (something Sam grew out of relatively quickly at the motel rooms; it was how Dean knew he had finally resigned himself to the fact that they were never really going to stay in one place for long enough to get used to it), someone knocks at the door again and saves them all from the embarrassment of an overly domestic Sam.

It's Martin, bringing their food; he's carrying a happy smile as well as a tray laden fully with an abundance of different foodstuffs, most of which doesn't look too unfamiliar. There's bread and some fruit and cheese, as well as some kind of meat; Martin puts it all on the table (Sam hastily pushes the clothes out of the way), and then slides off a bag he's been carrying. He pulls two bottles out of it and plates, glasses, forks, spoons, and knives, three of each, all of which he puts on the table as well. When he's done, he takes a step back, looks the ensemble over, and then nods, satisfied. "Is there anything else you need?" he addresses Castiel sunnily.

"I'd appreciate something to write on," Castiel replies, and Martin beams at him as if Castiel were doing him a personal favor by asking for things. Dean really hopes nobody will expect him to act like that.

"Of course! I'll be back in a minute." And he is out of the room again. Dean and Sam share another look and pull the clothes off the table completely, placing them on the remaining chair, and then start inspecting the food. Nothing smells or looks funny, which is both a relief and a disappointment; Dean would have loved to try out any new, weird foods, but he wouldn't want to actually live on them.

Martin comes back, drops off something that looks an awful lot like a Draw N Erase board, and then hops away again with the information that someone's going to come and take them to Larrin sometime soon. He looks a little apologetic at that, like he feels bad for them because they're not allowed out of the room, and while Dean is sure nobody actually told them they weren't supposed to leave it, he knows better than to actually test that theory. Cas and Sam would probably stop him anyway.

They don't actually eat first, even though Dean suddenly feels ravenous; instead, Sam and Castiel huddle over the board-thingy and start to draw symbols from memory. Only when there isn't anymore room on the board do they stop, and by then, Dean is cranky and has started without them.

The bread tastes different, but okay; there's probably a couple of grains in there he isn't too used to or something – he doesn't eat too healthily, if it's left to him. The cheese is weirdly spicy, but good, and the bottles contain apple and grape juice respectively. The meat he can't really identify, but it's grilled and tastes good, and that's really all that matters. All in all, it's a nice meal; nicer a breakfast than he would've gotten if he were still in his own timeline, actually. He misses the eggs, though.

"Dean," Castiel breaks into his food-fixated pondering, and Dean blinks when he pushes the board over to him. "Do the symbols match with your memory, or is anything missing?"

Swallowing the mouthful of strawberries he'd been chewing, Dean takes the board and looks it over; Sam and Castiel mostly drew the random symbols that had been on the walls and ceiling, none of the enchantment circles. It's a good thing Dean was mostly full, because he does recognize some of these symbols, actually, and it chases his appetite away. One or two of them got a curve or corner wrong or are crooked. Wordlessly, he reaches for the stylus and corrects them, then pushes the board back over to Castiel.

He has to clear his throat before he can speak. "They don't really make sense together," he says and doesn't quite recognize his own voice, which seems to happen most of the time when he's talking or thinking about hell. "But I can translate them, yes."

Castiel nods but doesn't ask for the meanings of the symbols yet, thankfully. Dean's got to translate them at one point or another, but right now, he first has to adapt to the thought that he's going to have to drag up memories of hell and the things he picked up there along the way, especially those last ten years that will haunt him forever.

They eat the rest of the meal in silence – well, actually, only Sam eats; Dean feels a little queasy, and Castiel doesn't eat at all, stares instead at the board and the symbols there as if they're going to tell them what they're about if he stares hard enough. Which they actually did in hell, or that might have been other demons whispering; he couldn't tell what was real and what he was hallucinating after a while.

The knock on the door is almost a salvation; Dean certainly welcomes the distraction and goes to open the door after a short glance at Castiel to check if there is any sort of etiquette about Dean opening the door instead of Cas. If there is, Castiel doesn't know about it, and neither do Martin and the guy with the suitcase he's brought, because they don't seem scandalized.

"Hey, Dean! I thought you'd feel better if we take care of the collars now." Martin beams, and Dean smiles almost reluctantly. While the guy's campiness is still annoying as fuck and kind of creepy, Martin appears to be very friendly and happy to help, and he kind of grows on Dean a little. Which might or might not have something to do with the fact that he brought food and pulled him out of his thoughts before they descended into forbidden territory, but he's not thinking about that.

"Hey, Martin," he replies with only a small trace of dryness and steps aside to let him and the guy he's accompanied by in. The suitcase he's carrying looks like any other suitcase Dean has seen before, and it continues to surprise him how the little details of this world and theirs match when the big things don't match at all. Other than that, the guy is dressed all in black, no jewelery at all and his long brown hair in a ponytail. He's tall, but thin, and he's wearing a simple, slim, silver collar that has the name 'Melanie Johnson' engraved on the front. It's like he's the perfect opposite to of Martin.

"This is Carl; he's handling the temporary collars here." Martin introduces the guy, then looks apologetic as he continues to explain, "For the real pretty ones, I fear you'll have to go to the city, but Larrin is paying for these for you, and they're really nice for temporary collars."

Castiel, who had gotten up when Martin and Carl had entered the room, nods and says, "Thank you." It makes Martin smile again, and Dean is starting to consider if his first instinct was right and the guy actually is developing sort of a crush on Cas. It doesn't sit too well with Dean on one level, but it might turn out to be useful to them in the future.

Sam and Dean quickly move their breakfast dishes and the leftover food back onto the tray to make room for Carl's suitcase, and Carl wordlessly puts it on the table and opens it, revealing a bunch of flat, broad boxes. Glancing up at Castiel, he calmly asks, "Which material would you prefer? I can offer leather and several kinds of wood; the best I have is ebony."

"Leather would be best," Castiel replies.

When Martin's face falls, Sam glances at Dean and quickly chimes in, "We don't want to stretch Larrin's kindness."

Immediately, Martin brightens again, and he offers eagerly, "Larrin wouldn't have told Carl to bring his best if she weren't willing to pay for them."

"That is very kind of her," Castiel says earnestly, then nods at Carl, who's looking at him expectantly.

Then Castiel holds out his hand towards Dean, and it takes Dean an embarrassingly long moment to realize what he wants. When he does, he quickly steps over and takes the offered hand, letting Castiel pull him close while frantically trying not to look like he's freaking out on the inside. Didn't Cas say he had no idea about human interaction or something like that? How does he know to act like this?

But it's obviously what's expected because Martin gives them another wide, beaming smile (seriously, it's getting so weird Dean is starting to wonder if the guy is on drugs or something) and even the corners of Carl's mouth tilt a little upwards.

"Pick whatever you like," Castiel orders quietly, softly, his hand gripping Dean's tightly, and Dean returns the pressure as Carl turns to him.

"Single strap or double strap?" the man asks, for the first time speaking, and his voice is calm and quiet.

Having no idea what the hell that even means, Dean goes with the less dangerous-sounding one. "Single."

"With loops or without?"

"Without." Definitely less dangerous-sounding one.

"The name sewn in or hammered in with metal?"

Here, Dean hesitates because he actually has an inclination what that means and he has no idea which would be better. "Uhm, sewn." He picks that one because it sounds cheaper, and Sam had said something about stretching Larrin's kindness before. Dean supposes collars are rather pricey and, considering that Carl doesn't look like he's running out of questions yet, that almost makes sense. Besides, the collar that Martin wears looks like it costs more than Dean's baby.

"Studded or bejeweled?"

Right. "Neither?" He leans back a little into Castiel, whom he can tell is amused even without looking at him.

Carl only nods, then continues, "The lining, would you prefer fur, satin, leather, velvet, none?"

Whoa, right, there he goes being overwhelmed again. No lining sounds like it'd chafe, fur sounds too warm, as does velvet, and satin's kind of girly. "Leather."

It seems that was it about the questions because Carl nods again and picks out four boxes. "These are only samples; I can go back and bring more." He opens the boxes and puts them on the table for Dean to look at.

The first collar is a very simple one, only a strip of black leather, nothing else, no lining. The second collar is similarly simple, except that it has red leather lining and red seams, the third is uniform dark green with lining and seams of the same color, and the fourth is black like the first one, except it's very thick. They're all undeniably collars a lot like the ones for dogs Dean knows of, but at least they're not shiny or studded.

Now the problem is to pick one. He never really had to pick anything like that; when he buys clothes he usually just picks some random shirts and jeans; he only wants them to be comfortable. They won't last long anyway, and it doesn't matter much how he looks. When it does, he wears a suit. And he's never had to buy jewelery before; the only time he's come even vaguely close had been with Cassie, and there he hadn't even really thought about it. Trying to tell Cassie about his real job had been a test she hadn't passed, so it had never actually come to that.

He's actually relieved when Castiel leans into him, even while he's still freaking out at the actual body contact, and even more at the fact that it actually _helps_. This is really something he has to get used to first; he never has anyone in his personal space, except maybe girls, but those he picks himself, and also, that was before.

In the end, he just picks one at random. "The green one."

Carl nods, closes the boxes, and puts every one but the one with the green collar back into the suitcase, then turns to Sam.

"Uhm, I'll just take the black one, the thin one," Sam says quickly, and Carl pauses for merely a second before nodding and taking the box with the black one out.

After closing the suitcase, Carl takes a smaller version of one of those boards out of his pocket. "I need you to spell out both first and last name."

Dean quickly glances at Castiel and then spells 'Castiel Novak'; Jimmy's last name is the first one he can think of, and he isn't sure Castiel wouldn't have been confused by the last name. A couple of days ago, he would have been sure of that, but Castiel's shown odd burst of competence with such things recently, so he can't really tell anymore. It's an uncomfortable thought, that Castiel knows more than he lets on, but it's not the first time that has happened. Anyway, it's not like they have long conversations exchanging their life stories and everything they know or something.

When it's Sam's turn, he spells out 'Jessica Moore' and then looks away; nobody looks at him. After that, Carl and Martin take off pretty quickly; Carl promises he'll have the collars ready in about half an hour, and Castiel asks Martin for another board to write on. Martin comes back pretty soon with a bunch of them, and he says, blushing, "I thought you might need more than one."

Castiel thanks him in his usual, earnest way, and Martin gives another chipper smile before bounding off, promising to come back at some point and take them to Larrin.

As soon as he's gone, having taken the dirty dishes with him but leaving the leftover food for them "in case you get hungry again", Castiel, Sam, and Dean immediately get to trying to copy down all the seals and symbols they saw in that room. The symbols are relatively easy, though there's no way they got them all; it's the seals that give them trouble.

Castiel can identify a few, and Dean vaguely recognizes some others, but most of them are improvisations, and it's not like either of them had a lot of time to memorize them. The only salvation is that Castiel has something of an eidetic memory; he sketches down what little he saw. It seems the magic confused him little, taking hold of him before Dean and Sam.

All in all, it doesn't look too awful, but, barring the fact that Castiel keeps emphasizing that it's never been done and is supposed to be impossible (hah, so much for _that_ ), it even looks relatively good. They've had cases with less to go from.

When they're still writing down symbols, Carl comes back and gives them the two cases with the collars; he doesn't stay around to watch them put them on, simply hands over the boxes and goes off again. There is an awkward moment when Castiel puts the boxes on the table, but Sam reasons they better put them on now because it'd look weird if they weren't wearing them when Martin comes knocking.

So they put the collars on. They're simply buckled, and Dean almost puts his on with Castiel's name the wrong way up. Sam won't stop laughing at him until it turns out he's unable to handle the buckle on his own; then it's Dean's turn to smirk at him. He graciously offers his help and closes the buckle for Sam, and then they go back to combing their memories for anything they might remember.

When it's about lunchtime, Martin comes back with more food for them; he's carrying a bowl of soup and another bag with plates, spoons, knives, and forks. He's also very apologetic and doesn't look as chirpy as before; he says, "I'm so sorry you have to stay cooped up in this room all day, but something came up and Larrin is very busy right now."

Sam puts on his worried and sympathetic face and asks, "Did anything happen?" His voice is practically dripping with genuine concern. Even Dean can't always tell if he's honest or not; Sam's a very good actor. Right now, he knows that Sam's trying to pull Martin for information.

"Oh, well," Martin says, looking a little harried. "A boy went missing about two hours ago, and everyone's all over the place. We're very worried; he's just eight years old; if he got lost outside he might die of thirst."

"My God," Sam replies, expression turning to shock, and this time Dean knows it's genuine. He can understand; children are always a delicate issue for them. They don't get many cases involving children, but the ones they do, they're always among the hardest. "Is there anything we can do?" Sam asks, and Martin smiles weakly.

"Not really," he says. "We've got people looking for him and everything. You just... need to have some patience until Larrin can see you. We're very sorry for the inconvenience."

"No, no, it's alright," Sam hastens to explain. "Just, well, take your time. I hope you'll find him quickly."

Martin nods. "We hope so too. I've got some more food for you, but I couldn't carry it all at once, I'll be back soon." With that, Martin runs off again, but true to his word, he's back about ten minutes later with a covered tray with boiled potatoes, something that looks a lot like wiener schnitzel, and spinach. It's an interesting combination, but who cares about that as long as it's hot?

And this time, Castiel even almost eats something; he pokes around at the spinach a bit, and, when Dean doesn't stop nagging about it, even tries some of the schnitzel. He doesn't seem to like it – not that he looks like he dislikes it; he's wearing a contemplating expression that, frankly, freaks Dean out. Someone who is eating shouldn't look like they're considering whether they're going to go take a piss or a dump next time they'll use the toilet.

Or maybe that's just Dean's thoughts running off. He's rather sure Castiel doesn't actually use the toilet. It's a small wonder already he sleeps; any food he ingests probably just disintegrates in his belly or something.

After lunch they get back to the symbols and circles and seals; they're running out of boards, unfortunately, so they have to stop when there's only two left and start trying to decipher them.

The symbols aren't much of a challenge, at least not their actual translation or use. Castiel knows most of them, and Dean's got the ones he knows from hell covered; there's still some unaccounted for, ones none of them know, which is probably because they're from hell and Dean didn't get to know them in the comparably short time he spent there (and he feels so queasy when Castiel says that he has to take a couple of deep breaths to prevent himself from upchucking lunch; how come this always comes up in conversation when he's just eaten anyway?), or because they misspelled them and can't tell what they really mean. There's two or three where Dean and Castiel respectively don't know if they're one symbol or the other.

But the rest they get to work.

They're into late afternoon, and Sam is disgruntled that he's of so little help and trying to hide it; he definitely doesn't like that there really isn't anything he can do so far. Castiel has to explain to them both a lot, and Dean has to explain a little too, but all Sam knows is stuff he read in books, and that's stuff Castiel already knows, or knows better. Sam is definitely not used to tagging along and basically being useless during research, and Dean can tell he really doesn't like it. But he'll get over it.

Of course they don't get very far; it's mostly gibberish at that point, random words like "plate" or "window" that don't seem to have anything to do with each other or the result. Though Sam brings it to their attention that, since the actual result most likely wasn't what these guys were trying to do, the spell probably isn't going to look like it did what it does either, which is a good point, but certainly doesn't make things any easier for them.

By early evening, they're all frustrated – or at least Dean and Sam are; Castiel doesn't look too cheerful either, but he seems to have an endless amount of patience for sitting still and only using his brain. Although Dean probably would have a lot of practice with that, too, if he had spent thousands of years sitting around in heaven with nothing better to do than pray and watch the angels' version of TV (also called 'real life' by other people). Dean wants to get out, needs to do something; he's never been one for being cooped up in one room for long, it makes him restless and snappish and frustrated. Which sucks because he really has to keep himself together in here; while they can, of course, run off and hide, it'll make their situation considerably harder with them not knowing much about this place and how it's structured.

Thankfully, a distraction in the form of Larrin arrives.

They've been left alone all afternoon except for Martin's short visit to come pick up their dishes and leftover food; he hadn't had any news about the missing boy and been in a hurry, though very polite and apologetic about it.

When Larrin knocks on the door and immediately enters, she looks stressed. She apologizes for having left them alone for so long, and Sam uses his sympathetic and worried face as well as his diplomacy. Dean can charm people, but Sam can make them genuinely like him; there's a difference, though Dean has never been able to figure out how his brother does that. It must have something to do with his puppy dog eyes, he figures.

Larrin, however, appears to be one of the few people who don't immediately feel like pouring their heart out for Sam. "The collars look really good on you two." She deflects the conversation when, after she told them there was no sign of the missing boy, Sam tries to find out more about it. Dean doesn't know why Sam is so curious about it; it's a missing child, which, yeah, is awful, but they really have a bigger problem right now.

"Yes," Castiel agrees. "Thank you for that."

Larrin smiles. "I'm really sorry I didn't have time until now to talk to you. My security officer looked through your weapons and they've been cleared, though you won't be getting them back until you leave; I hope you understand."

"Of course," Castiel says. He doesn't look unhappy about it at all, probably because he has his angel mojo to defend himself with, Dean thinks with disgruntlement. He feels naked without some sort of protection, especially in a world where people view him as a sex slave.

"I trust Martin took good care of you," she inquires next.

Dean, when he sees that Castiel deems a single nod sufficient enough answer to that question, chimes in and says, "He's been really very helpful, kept bringing us stuff to write on."

Larrin smiles at him; it's the first time she looks at him for longer than a short glance. "I heard. He's always very eager to try make people feel at home." She glances over at the boards they have set on the table. "Do you need any more of these? We also have bigger ones if you need them."

"That'd be great, thanks," Dean replies when it looks like it's now his turn to hold conversation. Larrin then tries to stare him down, probably trying to make him volunteer some more information, and Dean glances at Castiel and Sam, but they only look at him.

Dean says nothing. He's really very good at holding silence and at staring back; he also likes being a smartass and running his mouth, but he has a feeling that crap like that wouldn't really help them in their situation right now.

In the end, Larrin smirks and gives him an almost imperceptible nod before turning back to Castiel. "You may leave the room whenever you wish; I'll come and pick you up later today for dinner so you know the way to the mess. You may go outside as well, but don't leave the inner security circle and don't go anywhere else."

"Of course. Thank you, you've been very... helpful," Castiel replies, and Dean wonders if he even notices the layers in his way of speaking, the way he makes it sound as if he means something else sometimes.

Larrin doesn't seem to notice or mind because, as quickly as she appeared, she leaves again. About ten minutes later, Martin is back, looking a little flustered and carrying five more boards, as long and broad as his arms.

After that, they at least have more room on the boards for the seals; Sam transfers some of the more complicated ones onto the bigger boards while Castiel uses the new empty space to sketch some more of what he saw. Dean still sits at the symbols from hell, and there are also three seals that seem vaguely familiar, though he can't remember what they mean.

The problem is, he knows he knows their meaning. In hell, you didn't just pick up things and forget them; all you had to distract yourself from the pain was thinking, your brain, and, despite what most people believe, thoughts can go stale. A thought, when it is new, works very well for escape, but after a while it loses its newness, wears away, starts to fray, and you can only have so many new thoughts before all there is left is the pain and nothing in your brain to keep you from it anymore. You don't sleep in hell, you don't dream, and after a while, you don't think. That's how people forget who they are, who they were; after a couple of decades, there's only pain.

Knowledge helps, and knowledge is a very precious good in hell. Learning hell's language – after the first thirty years, Dean forgot he was born into another language; he spoke, he thought in hell's language – was the first step, and after that comes the written symbols, and then come the seals and the magic and the spells.

He forgot all that when he woke up.

The irony is, even while coming back to life had felt like a dream, he had known it wasn't; he hadn't had a daydream in over thirty-five years, and daydreams don't even come close to real dreams. He had known he was back because everything had felt too real, too factual to be anything but. Still, it had been almost like an out of body experience, like he was watching himself walk along that road, the sun hot and burning, throat raw and dusty, thirst and hunger churning at his insides. Hell, at first he hadn't even known what it was he was feeling; he had thought- well, when he had realized that it wasn't anybody else's doing but simply his body needing sustenance, it had been like a weird wake-up call after the wake-up call. Castiel's voice and the pain it had caused in him; that had actually been what had brought him back, made him more aware again. That feeling of standing beside himself had started to bleed away, a little more with each step he took, when he met Bobby, then Sam. It had come back in a different form, but that's another matter altogether.

"Dean."

He looks up to find Castiel is invading his personal space again, but this time it isn't thoughtlessness or unawareness; Dean is sitting and Castiel is leaning down to him, face only inches from Dean's.

Dean only looks, and Castiel looks back, and they're having another moment and there isn't a damn thing Dean can do about it – wants to do about it, right now.

"Don't get lost," Castiel says quietly. His voice is dark and rough like usual, but it sounds intimate, almost purring. Dean isn't entirely sure that's only because of the proximity.

"I won't," he replies just as quietly. He isn't sure it's true.

Shortly after that, Larrin is back, accompanied by two people she introduces as her subs – a regal looking woman with nearly white skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, dressed in white clothes and a silver collar sprinkled with sapphires, introduced as Jennifer, and a man of Castiel's built, but of very light colors as well and named Edward; his collar is silver with diamonds. Larrin's type is very obvious.

With them is Martin and who turns out to be his dom, Denny; he looks good-humored and keeps touching Martin – not indecently, just nearly constantly keeping his hand on his back or shoulder or arm.

Going out for dinner is, if Dean were to put it diplomatically, an experience. Apparently, many people eat meals in the mess; there are some who like to prepare their meals for themselves, Martin explains, but most appreciate the opportunity of not having to cook. "Except, of course, for special occasions," he says and winks, then glances at Denny and blushes. Seriously, the guy is _camp_.

"Have you ever lived in a community?" Larrin asks Castiel while leading them down the halls, and Castiel shakes his head.

"Except for our house, we have mostly lived in the city."

"Which city?" Martin asks curiously, and Denny puts a hand on his shoulder again, but this time it looks more like a warning than a gesture of affection.

"Excuse him, he's very curious," Denny says apologetically. "Visitors aren't too rare here, but we have never seen a member of Heaven, much less three."

"Yeah, we kind of tend to... keep to ourselves a little," Sam explains, apologetic as well, and Dean throws him a glance, then adds, "Or at least not tell everyone where we're from."

"Actually, it's rather possible you have met an angel before but never knew about it," Sam spins the story further. Apparently he really likes the secret agent story, and Dean has to admit, it is a useful cover. The problem with it is only that it can blow over very quickly; people find secret agents exciting, but also tend to mistrust them very quickly.

"Interesting," Denny comments, and Martin tilts his head but keeps his mouth shut. He and Denny thread their fingers together again, and Dean glances ahead to see if Larrin is touching her subs as well. If that's common in this world, the lots of touching, it'll look weird if he and Castiel don't touch often as well, and they can't afford that.

And it appears it is, or at least not uncommon; Larrin has her fingers on Jennifer's wrist, and Jennifer and Edward are holding hands.

Okay. Looks like Dean's got to touch Castiel because it doesn't look like Castiel is aware of any such customs or noticed anything.

It shouldn't be that hard; it's just a cover to keep up appearances, but it doesn't feel that way, and that freaks him out. He's used to playing a role; he's been playing roles all his life. Good son, good brother, charming boyfriend, experienced hunter. Except the last role he played he didn't like at all, and there's a new role the angels have ready for him that he dislikes almost as much.

But it's just a touch, nothing more. They might not even need to hold hands; maybe it's enough if Dean brushes them together – although he'd have to do that in a moment in which as many people as possible are looking, and he can't both check whether anyone's watching and touch Castiel. Maybe he should have been able to do that, and maybe he would have if it were anyone but Castiel, but it is Castiel, and he can't.

In the end it's pretty anti-climatic, except for how his heart is beating loudly in his ears and he's completely tuned out whatever conversation is going on around him. But he does it; he reaches out and touches Castiel's hand, and Castiel, after glancing at him and then at Denny and Larrin, turns his hand and links their fingers together, and that is that.

Right. So he and Castiel are holding hands. Dean's pretty sure Sam is never going to let it go, ever.

Thankfully, he doesn't have much time to dwell on that – or on the fact that Castiel's hand is warm and that his grip is firm but not constricting; he hadn't expected that and he wonders why not.

But then they arrive in the mess, and he's too busy trying not to stare while catching as many details as possible to keep thinking about what the hell is going on with him.

There's a lot going on in the mess; people are walking around with trays and plates laden with food or carrying dirty dishes over to a window behind which people are probably taking care of them. The noise level is high, but not unbearably so; the room – though it can barely be called that; it's big enough to be called a hall – has high ceilings, and there's long tables with lots of chairs organized in lines pretty much like a school cafeteria.

However, that's not what catches Dean's attention so. It's the people themselves, or, more precisely, the doms and subs. A couple of the subs are on honest to God _leashes_ , and it brings the dog-comparison back to the forefront of Dean's mind, which doesn't exactly comfort him. Some are kneeling on the ground next to their dom's chairs and being fed, and others are sitting in their dom's laps. There is a lot of touching going on, some not exactly appropriate, but nothing too indecent; not that Dean would mind normally, but not in a place where people eat food. He has no problem with eating in bed for fun, but usually, he likes to keep his pleasures apart.

At least, despite the fact that Larrin appears to be the leader of these people (hadn't that Jonas guy called it 'Larrin's territory'?), nobody pays them much attention. A few people wave at her or stop to exchange some greetings, but apart from that, it doesn't look like she demands a lot of subservience from her people, which is a big plus. People who treated those under them like slaves or servants never sat well with him.

So, surprisingly, it seems like despite the fact that this is a world of sex-slaves, it's still relatively civilized. Dean doesn't see anyone who looks terribly unhappy or cowed; none of those wearing a collar look like they're being mistreated, and that matches with the vibes he got from Denny and Martin as well as Larrin and her subs. Quite the opposite, actually; most of them look like they're in happy relationships, and some of them are disgustingly affectionate like only people newly in love can be.

One big difference to their world, though, is the disproportionally higher amount of pairings Dean sees. It seems like about two thirds of the population are in some sort of relationship, wearing a collar or acting couple-y with someone wearing a collar. He doesn't know what to make of that.

Well, whatever it is, he doesn't have time to philosophize about it now because Castiel is pulling over to the foodline where he lets go of Dean's hand, leaving him feeling strangely bereft. It, luckily, looks less like at school where bored-looking personnel would slap a weird, undefinable mess of food onto each plate; it appeared to be more like a buffet with lots of different foods. Once again, Dean is startled at how much everything looks like their world, and he really has to stop that; being surprised once is okay, but over and over again only speaks of stupidity, and Dean really doesn't like being called stupid.

So they all get their food, even Castiel, who tries hard not to look helpless at the choices but still kind of does; Dean stays close to him and tells him in a low voice what to get. He's curious to see if Castiel will actually eat any of it.

He does. They sit at the same table Larrin chose, opposite of Martin and Denny mostly because Martin happily waved them over and gestured towards the empty chairs. And the food tastes good too; some of it is weirdly seasoned or composed, but nothing tastes really disgusting (or at least not unexpectedly so; there are a couple of things Dean doesn't like, but he didn't actually get them). After dinner, Denny and Martin decide to show them around a little – or rather show them the way outside, though it's nearing curfew and they don't advise them to go outside when it's getting dark, "Because of the gangs and robbers," Martin explains. Apparently, this world has a real problem with those, which explains the patrols, guards, and high security on top of everyone living inside the walls of a castle. It also turns out there's a sort of inner courtyard, a garden and a fountain that actually look rather pretty. Here they also finally find out how the water-connected things have to work; Martin pokes his fingers in the earth, probably to check the moisture, and then walks over to a sink very much like the one in their room and says clearly, "Tap, medium," and the thing starts pouring water. Sam and Dean share a look, both remembering Sam's earlier try to talk to the things and Dean's amusement; obviously he had gotten the basic idea right and only used the wrong words.

When Martin comes back, he tells them, "It's rather cool here except for when it's high summer. Everyone goes here when they can't stand being cooped up inside any longer, and then there's also the roof terraces, but I think Larrin said you weren't allowed to go there." He again wears a terribly apologetic expression, as if it were some kind of terrible insult or something. Really, Dean can understand the precaution; except for this house angel business, they have nothing to prove they aren't here for malicious reasons. And now that he really thinks about it, he realizes they're very lucky nobody suspects them having anything to do with the disappearances of the boy, on top of being lucky already to have been taken in and fed and practically catered to. Dean really doesn't know what to make out of that, and if this were their world, he'd be highly suspicious. But it isn't, and he's starting to realize that in this place, he has to let go of his prejudices and look beneath the surface.

Just because he thinks being considered some sort of sex slave is degrading and barbaric doesn't mean it actually is; in their world it might be, but Dean is very aware of the fact that even at home there are some places where it's viewed like that as well. He actually has been to a BDSM club once because some girl dragged him there, but he had been too freaked out and sneaked away after thirty minutes. Now he regrets that; if he had stayed a little longer and watched a little more closely, had a more open mind, he might have learned something new, and he definitely would have been a lot better prepared for this.

Dean doesn't notice until it's too late, but he spends the rest of the evening in silence, occasionally listening to whatever Martin is chatting away about – something about the jobs in the castle and what people do all day, which he really should pay attention to, but his thoughts stray away again without him noticing. The only thing that pulls him out of his deep contemplation is Castiel, who apparently learned to pay better attention and starts to touch Dean more; much like Denny, only occasional, innocent touches like a hand on the hip, hands brushing, that sort of thing, but Dean notices. He notices every time, and that's something he thinks about as well.

 _It's Castiel_ is the only reason he can find. That shouldn't explain anything but, in fact, does, and he doesn't know why. But it makes sense, he finally starts to realize; Castiel... there isn't anyone in his life that compares to Castiel. Not because Castiel is an ex-angel or because he's powerful even weakened, or because he pulled Dean out of hell, although all of these are part of it. No, it actually is the fact that Cas never truly abandoned him. He isn't perfect by far, and he's seriously pissed Dean off more than once; he can act like a real dick and has no qualms about it either. But he's never actually been a real bastard; the one time he should have been, he had been so apologetic and downright guilty; it had shown a whole different part of him.

Castiel rebelled for him.

Nobody has ever done anything like that because of him. Nobody simply believed in him; nobody _listened_ like Castiel did in the Green Room when Dean had given him this great speech about Castiel being already dead. That might be because Dean isn't too big on letting people close enough to even have the opportunity for any of that, but it's also because everyone Dean trusted before has abandoned him in some way. His mom – and though it's not her fault, he had spent some time as a child being desperately angry with her – and his father, Sam, Cassie.

Bobby hasn't, but Bobby doesn't count among these people who are the closest to him – so why does Castiel? Bobby is like family to them, has almost taken over the role of a father, and yet Dean can't imagine telling him some of the things he told Castiel or Sam. And when did that happen? When did Castiel become one of the two most important people in his life, the closest to him?

He doesn't know anything about Castiel, doesn't know how old he is, what he did all his life, what he likes to do. But he _knows_ him, knows _Castiel_ in a way Dean knows for a fact nobody else does. _"Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?"_

Yeah. And Castiel knows _Dean_. Just knows the parts Dean knows he'll never be able to put to words, to give voice to, knows the very worst of him. He was _there_. That makes it both worse and better.

Thing is, Dean isn't normally one for introspection and self-insights. The bad things he tends to ignore, and the good things don't need much mulling over. But lately, the bad things have developed a habit of catching up with him, and he's starting to think that not all the good things are obvious and easily to recognize. Castiel is a good thing, he definitely is; even when he's being a bad thing, he still is a good thing, and that makes absolutely no sense. But it's true.

He's starting to get the feeling that some of the good things might have been hiding in plain sight for a while now and he never noticed.

Castiel's hand is warm in the small of his back.

It's resting there, warm and heavy; he can feel the shape of it through the cloth of the soft cotton shirt he's wearing. Castiel is guiding him like he has seen Larrin do with her female sub, Jennifer, and probably some other people in the mess hall too. Denny surely has done it a couple of times for Martin as well, not that Dean has been paying enough attention to his exterior to notice.

It's grounding him, Castiel's hand; it's weird. The feeling is very different from how the hand print felt, even when it had been a couple of days old already; even now he still feels it sometimes. He's never asked Castiel what it means, he suddenly remembers, and isn't that weird? He should have. It's a mark on his body, but it feels like it goes deeper, and that only makes sense since it wasn't actually his body Castiel took hold of in hell, but his soul. That suggests the hand print is actually on his soul and only manifests on his body to reflect that. Seriously, he has to ask Castiel about it soon; it's not freaking him out as much as it should (so what if there's a hand print on his soul? It's not as if anybody's going to see, and those who will already know all about it; he's a sort of legend among angels and demons, he knows) but still. It's the principle of the thing.

Suddenly, Castiel leans close and his voice and breath are in Dean's ear as he says his name. "Dean."

Looking up, he notices to his surprise that they're just entering their room; he's blindly followed the pressure of Castiel's hand without even being aware. Dean's really not one for multi-tasking, and he curses himself for his inattention; that could've been really dangerous if they had been attacked or gotten into any kind of situation. Seriously, he's acting like some rookie or junkie or one of those weird people who meditate all the time.

"Uhm," Martin says and glances at Denny, who raises his eyebrow. Dean knows that expression; it's the 'go ahead, if you think it's such a good idea; I'll just sit by and watch' expression Sam wears a lot around him, especially when they were younger. And just like Dean, Martin gathers courage from that look (or rather, stubbornness). "So, I wanted to ask... please don't be offended; it's alright if you don't want to show, but I was wondering if you would show me your markings? It's just, I've only ever heard of them, and I'd really like to see, and this is probably the only opportunity I'll ever get."

Castiel gives Martin one of his completely expressionless looks, then glances at Dean who does his own eyebrow-raising. That seems to settle it for the angel, for he wordlessly reaches for the hem of his borrowed shirt (and he still looks kind of weird in these casual clothes) and pulls it over his head before turning around, displaying the tattooed wings.

Dean watches Martin and Denny both as their eyes settle on the 'tattoo'; they don't ogle Castiel apart from some minor checking out at the beginning. They just look at the ink (and Dean wonders how Castiel did that; can he change everything about his appearance at will, and what does Jimmy have to say about that?).

"It's beautiful," Denny offers, then grins and winks at Dean. "Would you consider showing yours?"

Dean can barely keep the confused expression at bay; so he's supposed to have a mark too? Castiel didn't even hint at any of that, which is just great. That's the sort of thing that could trip them up and expose them.

He quickly looks over at Castiel, who's pulling his shirt back on, roughing up his hair. They share their own sort of look, and then Castiel reaches over and touches Dean's arm with the tips of his fingers as if to reassure him, but he feels a weird tingling in the skin of his back, almost an itch.

So that's that taken care of, he figures, pulls his shirt off and turns around as well. He'd really love to look down his own back and check what Castiel did, if he has the same sort of picture as Castiel, but he's supposed to have had the thing for a while now, so he can't very well act like he just got it.

"I'm jealous," Martin pouts playfully. "I heard you learn a special sort of bondage that I bet looks really pretty with those marks."

Pulling the shirt back on, Dean turns around and, deciding to spray some charm a little to make up for paying no attention at all earlier, winks, saying, "Wouldn't you like to know."

Martin gives a startled, happy laugh, and Denny smirks and puts a hand on his shoulder. The two of them say good-bye after inviting to pick them up for breakfast the next day, and then they're off, leaving the three of them alone.

Nobody says anything; Dean supposes they all have something to contemplate. "I'm going to take a bath now that we finally know how the thing works," Sam finally says and walks off into the bathroom, leaving Dean and Castiel alone.

Castiel is still looking at him, Dean suddenly realzes, and he blurts out what he's thinking before he even knows he's going to say anything. "You know, we keep having these moments."

At that, Castiel looks puzzled, but still doesn't take his eyes off Dean, which might be because he knows about as much about staring and whether it's polite as he knows about personal space. "What... I get the impression when you say 'moment' you mean something different than an indefinitely short period of time."

"No," Dean says. "Well, yes. A moment is an... indefinitely short period of time, but it can also be a _moment_. That's what we've been having. It's when we just stare at each other." He raises one eyebrow. "Unless you do that with everyone."

Castiel frowns. "No. I don't... _stare_ at other people."

"Only at me, huh?" Dean puts his hands in his pockets (and hey, another thing he is totally used to from his own world and that the people in this world have too) and looks away, feeling oddly shy all of a sudden and irritated for it. What, is he degenerating into a thirteen year old schoolgirl?

"Yes, Dean." Now Castiel sounds patient, almost long-suffering, and a tad bit amused. "Only you."

Dean isn't sure they're only talking about staring anymore.

And it looks like he really is turning into a thirteen year old schoolgirl.

They go back to the table and the boards after that, but Dean's mind is going places and he can't concentrate anymore. He ends up staring sightlessly at the wall while next to him, Castiel silently writes down various translation and combination possibilities for the symbols and seals and circles.

The problem is, Dean thinks disjointedly, that the symbols aren't like Latin letters; they're more like Chinese (maybe? not that Dean knows anything about Chinese symbols, but he knows the rumor that the Chinese symbol for 'war' is two women under one roof; it continues to make him laugh). One symbol can mean something totally different depending on which other symbol it's combined with. On top of that, while Castiel has a very good memory, he didn't have the chance to look everywhere and see everything clearly, and Dean and Sam's memories are mere human memories and prone to errors. So, often, they aren't even sure if it's this kind of symbol or that, or if the position in the circle or seal is correct and, according to Castiel, the position of a symbol in a seal or circle is as important as the symbols it's combined with. It might very well be possible they'll end up spending years trying to decipher this mess without getting any closer to the solution than they are now.

Which is, frankly, why Dean's not feeling too motivated right now. In the morning he'll start again feeling a little better, maybe; most likely if Castiel does some dreamless mojo on him, likely not if he doesn't. But right now, after the day he's had trying to adapt and cover in a completely new universe and on top of that spending the afternoon stirring up his memories of hell - he's exhausted, drained, emotionally and physically. All he wants is to close his eyes and, if at all possible, not be ripped out of sleep by screams he caused echoing in his ears.

Sam comes out of the bathroom accompanied by a roll of steam, looking refreshed and thoughtful which looks frankly ridiculous because he's got a tiny towel wrapped around his hips and his hair is dark and curly. "Hey, guys, have you noticed that Martin didn't bring us any pajamas or something? Do you think these people sleep naked?"

Dean blinks and, not for the first time, wonders what the hell is going on in his brother's weird brain.

"I do not know," Castiel says earnestly, looking up at him, and Sam purses his lips and thoughtfully wanders off, closing his bedroom door after him.

"Right. Remind me not to go in there tomorrow without knocking," Dean requests, earning himself a weird look from Castiel. He should go take a bath too, he thinks; he should get up and get into the bathroom and freshen up because, even with the clean clothes, he's starting to feel a little gritty. They rarely go without showering at least once a day; with spending their days either sitting cooped up in a car or getting bloody and dirty hunting monsters, that's kinda inevitable. It might have made him a little OCD, or at least Sam likes to say so when Dean laughs at him when he folds his laundry with almost military precision.

But, somehow, he doesn't get up. He just doesn't feel like it; he likes sitting here, next to a quietly working Castiel, thinking about nothing and everything of consequence. It's kind of... peaceful, tranquil in a way he isn't used to. And isn't that weird? That he feels that way in a reality he hasn't been born in, in a world he doesn't know the rules of, where he's pretending to be a sex slave owned by Castiel just to get by without being bothered?

It's not that he feels at home here. In fact, now that he thinks about it, apart from a few rare moments he hasn't really felt at home since Before. And those moments can almost all be ascribed to his baby; it took a while after he freed her from Sam's douching up until she felt like his again, but now she does, and he feels good sitting behind her wheel, driving wherever, wind rushing by and Led Zeppelin loud in his ears. He could almost call himself content, those few rare moments.

He remembers being content sitting on a bench, watching children play, just after Halloween, Castiel next to him and telling him that humans were works of art - _works of art_. Dean still doesn't know what to do with that, if Castiel still thinks it now that he knows humanity up close, if it applies to Dean as well. He doesn't think so - nobody can honestly call him simply human anymore without lying through their teeth - but sometimes, when Castiel stares at him like he tends to, he almost does. Just a little.

And there he goes, venturing off into that territory again; he really needs to go get clean and then go to bed, sleep this weird thoughtful mood he's gotten himself into away. Tomorrow things will be different, if only because then he'll have to try to recall memories he'd really rather keep buried forever.

Dean gets up and into the bathroom, gets one of those weird roots that Sam told them are from Africa and only need to be chewed to clean one's teeth, and places himself in front of the bathtub. He says "Bathtub, hot," and it actually works; water comes pouring out of the strange not-tap, filling the bathtub surprisingly quickly. Quickly shedding his clothes and leaving them in a pile for Sam to nag about later, he just barely remembers to get the soap and then steps down the steps of the tub, taking a seat when his feet comfortably rest on the ground.

The water really is damn hot, but he likes it that way; it feels cleansing, and he's always felt better when he had a hot shower. They don't get to bathe too often; their usual target motels don't tend to come equipped with bathtubs, and they're not exactly a priority. And Dean doesn't mind that - he's not afraid of water, but he really doesn't like it when it gets in his face and always takes care of washing himself as quickly as possible.

That's why he doesn't stay long in the bathtub like Sam, barely long enough to feel really clean; then he soaps himself down and quickly washes all the important parts, dunks himself under to get the soap off, and is done with it all. He takes care of the rest of the evening routine, including chewing the root (which tastes plain weird but actually works; his teeth feel clean afterwards), and wraps a towel around his hips. Putting on the clothes he wore all day would pretty much negate the feeling of cleanness, and while they really don't have any sleeping clothes, he can simply wear a pair of cotton pants, it's no big deal.

Castiel is still sitting at the table, looking like he's either fallen asleep with his eyes open - highly unlikely - or trying to hypnotize the symbols on the board - slightly more likely. "Night, Cas," Dean says tiredly, pulling a pair of pants from the chair they had dumped the clothes on, and goes into their room.

"Good night, Dean," Castiel replies, voice quiet.

*

He almost wakes up from the screaming, but there's warmth on his chest, and he breathes easy.

*

In the morning, he wakes up feeling confused and out of sorts; it's early, too early, and Dean knows he's only slept a few hours again. It wasn't as relaxing a sleep as before, but at least he didn't wake up in the middle of the night being unable to sleep from the nightmares.

It's disrupting, their absence. He's gotten used to them, in a way; he can't ever actually get used to them, but their presence is part of his routine, his life now, and he deserves them. The nightmares, not sleeping through the night, the constant feeling of lethargy - it's the least of what he deserves, and he knows it.

He strongly suspects it's Castiel's doing that he's not having them anymore - or at least not consciously remembering them with more than the aftershocks of a tremble in his muscles, faded echoes in his ears. And it pisses him off in a helpless sort of way, and that only pisses him off more, and so he flings the blanket off his body and slides out of bed, into the main room where Castiel is still – or again? – sitting at a board, tracing symbols with the stylus.

"Just what the hell do you think you are doing?" he asks angrily, and Castiel looks up, looking startled and then confused.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Dean snorts. "Right. So it's not your doing that for the first time in _months_ I've been sleeping through the night twice in a row?"

When Castiel looks away, Dean knows he's right. "You've slept through the night before," Castiel evades, and it's almost like talking to him right at the beginning, a reminder that doesn't exactly calm Dean.

"Only if I've been drinking or taking pills," he returns angrily, and this is not something he would've said in Sam's presence because he knows the way Sam would look at him then – all soft and worried and reproachful – wouldn't do him any good. But Castiel, Castiel can know; he's seen the worst of him, and this, in comparison, is nothing.

Castiel narrows his eyes, leans forward, and fixates on Dean, now annoyed as well. "And tell me, Dean, how long do you want to keep that up?"

"None of your business," Dean snaps and wonders fleetingly when this discussion slipped out of his control.

"I won't apologize," Castiel says with finality and sits back. "I don't understand why you want me to. Why do you want to keep having dreams of hell?"

"I don't _want_ to..." Frustrated, Dean paces a little, turns away.

But Castiel won't let him off the hook so easily; Dean hears him get up, step closer. When he speaks, his voice is calm, hard. "You do. And I don't accept it."

"Why the fuck do you care?!" Dean yells and whirls around, feeling the last shreds of control slipping out of his fingers like oily fish. "They're my dreams, it's none of your damn business! You didn't care before!"

Castiel frowns, tilts his head as if watching Dean explode is a strangely entertaining past-time of his. "Why would you think that?" he asks, and Dean flounders. Stepping closer – personal space, and now he wishes he hadn't let Cas get away with that so often, hadn't stopped telling him that it's not appropriate – until they're almost chest to chest, Dean breathing heavily, Castiel once again his usual, unruffled self. "I did care, Dean," he says, almost gently. "I do care. But you would never have allowed..."

"What?" Dean croaks when Castiel trails off, can't look away from his eyes, watches them trail across his face as if Castiel has never learned to be discrete about it - which he probably hasn't.

"For me to touch you," Castiel continues quietly, leans closer, making Dean sway away and back again, bare feet rooted to the floor. "You guard yourself assiduously, careful not to let anyone get too close. I learned a lot from you about how to keep humans away with nothing more than a look."

He doesn't know what to say to that, how to react; it's as if Castiel is keeping him banned, bound to him, and this time it has nothing to do with circumstances or magic. "It's none of your business," he finally rasps, and Castiel shakes his head, frowning in irritation. But he doesn't reply with words; instead, Dean suddenly feels his hand at the back of his head, fingers in his hair, and then Castiel pulls them together until their foreheads bump together none too gently. That's when he realizes that neither of them have any idea what they're doing.

They stand like that, Dean barely able to breathe, not looking at each other, until Castiel finally speaks. "Isn't it?", he says, voice quiet. And suddenly, Dean feels ashamed; he doesn't even know why, can't rationally explain it, but he knows he's being more of an asshole than Castiel deserves.

"Maybe," he whispers; he wants to say more, but he doesn't know how, doesn't know what, and he just can't. Can't give someone that much power over himself, not even if it's Castiel who knows so much of him already that it sometimes feels like he's holding him cradled in his palm, naked and defenseless. "Maybe."

But it appears to be enough for now, because Castiel sighs and his hand slides down to come to rest above the collar on the back of Dean's neck, warm and soothing, even though Dean can't even explain why he's so agitated, so lost all of a sudden.

Castiel isn't keeping him close; Dean is the one who's doing the holding, he realizes suddenly, even though his hands are hanging limp at his sides, even though Castiel is the one who's technically the one keeping them like this. But Dean needs him, always needs him for everything nowadays; for information, for help, for magic, as a vent. Especially the latter, because being angry at Sam is sometimes like kicking a puppy, and he can't look himself in the eye (not that he really can anyway, though). And Castiel doesn't just let him, he gives; he takes as well, sometimes more than Dean can give, but he sometimes gives more than he can afford to as well, and as he realizes that, Dean also finally acknowledges that Castiel needs him just as much as Dean needs him. They give each other reason and purpose, something they wouldn't have much left of on their own. Greed was right about Dean, and wrong.

After a long moment of them simply standing together, Dean reluctantly pulls his head away a little, making Castiel let go slowly, as if he were as afraid of breaking whatever this is as Dean is. "Castiel," he starts quietly, not knowing what he's going to say but needing to say it anyway.

"If that's what you want," Castiel whispers, and Dean quickly shakes his head when he gets it.

"Cas," he corrects. "I just... I never... I know how hard it must've been for you, and I've been kind of an asshole about it." It's not like he doesn't know what it's like, having to realize that the person you've trusted most in your life is betraying you, that someone you've followed blindly isn't everything they're claiming to be, that the right they're teaching you might be wrong after all. And despite his rebellion and everything, Castiel had always had the utmost faith in God.

But Castiel shakes his head. "You meant what you said," he interrupts. "The most important part, you meant."

It takes him a moment to realize Cas is talking about that conversation they had when that asshole Zachariah locked him in the Green Room to keep him from preventing the apocalypse, from Sam. It feels like it's been years, but actually it's only been a couple months.

"You said we're done," Castiel explains. "You said, 'we're done'."

Dean blinks, because _that_ would certainly not have been what he deemed the most important of all the things he said. But when he says so, Castiel only tilts his head a little in that way of his and says, "Maybe it wasn't, maybe it was." Then he turns away, goes back to the table and says, "I think I have figured out something about the seals."

Dean has no other choice but to accept the change in topic, and he pushes aside his thoughts for later examination and goes to join him. "What is it?"

"I didn't consider it earlier because I would have never thought it possible, but it seems that some of the seals are combinations of Enochian and Hell together. This one, for example," he pulls one of the boards closer, on which he has drawn one of the seals with great attention to detail and references and possible translations in Latin letters, no doubt for Dean and Sam's benefit. "Is originally one that locks an angel in the vessel. Obviously, it doesn't get used often, because an angel will rather leave the vessel than permit this, and it's very hard to capture one of us to begin with." He throws Dean a glance. "Despite the impression you might've garnered, we don't usually tend to get trapped quickly or easily."

Which he kind of figured, and it's an interesting idea worth exploring, but what Dean hears the most is that Castiel at least still considers himself an angel when it's a matter of species, not belief. He doesn't really know what to make out of that; usually, Castiel takes great care to separate himself from his brethren and gets annoyed when other people don't make that distinction also, but it's on the other hand for the better, probably. Because if Castiel isn't an angel still at least in name, what is he? Dean has first-hand experience what it's like not to know where you belong anymore, though his own feelings on the matter probably pale compared to Sam's, who has a real problem with that. He's glad that Castiel, at least, has been spared that, after everything else has been taken from him already.

"Dean." Castiel sounds disapproving and is frowning at him when Dean startles out of his thoughts and looks up.

He grimaces. "Sorry, I was just thinking. Don't look at me like that, I'm concentrating now. Go on."

Castiel thankfully decides that Dean doesn't need to be lectured about paying attention just yet and continues. "But some of the letters have been altered while others have been actually replaced. I can't read these; if any of us can, it's you."

So, Dean gets back to work, trying to recall as much as possible of what he was previously working so hard on forgetting.

It's not easy; it isn't like he had a teacher who drew seals and symbols for him and patiently explained their use and purpose when he wasn't busy being tortured (and torturing, later on). Rather, he noticed them in passing, glanced at them out of the corners of his eyes; everything to concentrate on but the pain was good, even if it was somebody else in pain. In hell, magic is everywhere, ever-present; demons have over the centuries invented many creative ways to cause infinite pain without even touching somebody. It's also an environment of "eat or be eaten"; Dean spent most of his time being eaten or getting by with as little eating as at all possible, and consequently didn't try really hard to learn hell's magic and spells. Most demons never learn more than the basics; all of them can use a little of magic by default, and that's enough for most of them. Only those with higher aspirations take care to learn more complicated spells and rituals. Most of what Dean knows, he knows because Alistair took a particularly perverse pleasure out of describing what each symbol would do to him once activated while he was carving them into his skin, or while instructing him to carve them into somebody else.

Naturally, not exactly pleasant memories or something he easily recalls. But he's been trying; if they want to get back into their own world, he's the only one in the whole world right now who has a chance of helping them with the things neither Castiel nor Sam know. And they do want to get back – Dean would be lying if he claimed not to have considered the possibilities, but in the end, it all boils down to the fact that he couldn't live with himself if he ran away. This break, this forcibly being dragged out of their lives, their world, their _mission_ ; it's opened his eyes all over again. They have a job to do, and there's nobody else who will or can do it; they can't just abandon it, run away and pretend the world isn't burning down, even if it's not the world they're residing in anymore. (And that's still mind-boggling, being in another world that is so unlike theirs in some aspects, and eerily the same in others.)

But with that thought, another question arises in him. "Hey, Cas," he asks. "What happens with the others if the original timeline – ours – if the apocalypse happens? And I don't mean this, whatever is going on now; I mean the real apocalypse where everything goes down in flames, Hell on Earth."

Castiel shrugs. "I don't know. We've never had any official instructions about the other timelines; what we know about them we know because we investigated. They originate in the original timeline, but seem to be completely independent from then on. That might mean that it won't affect them if the original timeline 'goes down in flames', as you said. Of course, it might also mean that they will go down as well, but there's simply no way to tell."

Dean mulls over that, unconsciously chewing on the soft, erasing end of the stylus of which they have about as many as boards, which is funny because they only need three. It wouldn't make sense for the parallel universes to collapse simply because the original timeline literally goes to hell; the other timelines originated from this one, yes, but after that they appear to be completely independent – so it will probably effect future timelines that will change from the original one, but not ones that have already forked from it. On the other hand, maybe they aren't as independent as it seems; Castiel mentioned something about prophets telling the events of the original timeline. Maybe these secondary timelines are a test, an experiment; a study of what would've happened if...; maybe God is off somewhere watching them and wishing things had gone different in the original timeline.

"...Cas. You've been looking for God. Could it be you've been looking in the wrong timeline? He might be in a completely different one; I'm sure he didn't lock himself out of them as well. What do you think?"

Cas shrugs tensely, shoulders tight and gaze fixed on the board he was mulling over. "It's a possibility." He looks up. "It's not like it matters anymore, Dean."

He does have a point there, but Dean doesn't get to admit that anymore, because there's a knock on the door. It's still early in the morning, or at least he thought so, but hell, Sam isn't even awake yet, so even if Dean's internal clock has chosen not to work again (an altogether not that unusual occurrence): that much at least is sure.

Apparently though early morning is the normal time for people in this universe to meet up for breakfast, because when Castiel opens the door it turns out it's Martin and Denny, coming to pick them up. Dean happily offers to go and wake up his brother; he doesn't get to do it often, because either Sam is the one up first or it's not necessary to get up early and he has the policy that when nightmares keep him awake, Sam should get sleep enough for both of them. It kind of makes it feel alright when he only gets enough to barely scrape by.

Except it turns out Sam's naked, and really, Dean did _not_ need to see that, thank you very much. At least he's very unhappy to see Dean and any physical evidence of it being morning fades pretty quickly. Not that he's trying to look or anything. Also, Sam's indignant and highly embarrassed reaction (girly squealing included) almost makes it worth it; there's few things more amusing than his flustered sasquatch brother trying to cover himself and at the same time pretend he's not here.

Face crunched up and with hot cheeks, Dean quickly gets out of his brother's room again, ignoring the amused expressions of Castiel and their two visitors. He quickly gets into his and Castiel's room (and that still feels weird, to think of it as _their_ room) and puts on some different clothes, a plain black shirt and leather pants ( _not_ the skin-tight ones). All three of them are still wearing the shoes they wore when they came here, he suddenly realizes; he hasn't paid attention to this world's footwear (really, why would he?) but he figures if it really mattered that much, someone would've said something.

When he comes back into the room, he finds Martin standing by the table and looking at the boards while Castiel looks a mix of confused and uncomfortable, and Denny is halfway to frowning.

"You know, this looks a lot like multiverse hypotheses," Martin says absentmindedly, leaning across the table curiously. "Except, of course, it's not equations but words. A friend of mine used to study for maths like that; she couldn't remember anything if it was in numbers, but as soon as she translated the equations and principles into words, she had no problem remembering them." He chuckles and pulls back. "Of course, that didn't enable her to actually use them, but at least she understood them."

Out of the corners of his eyes, Dean sees Sam entering the room and halting in his step much like he did, but Martin doesn't appear to notice. Denny does, though; he's looking a little uncomfortable, this close to interfering from what it looks like.

"And this part," he's saying, pointing at a bubble of words Dean had randomly scribbled down because he somehow thought of them in relation to a group of symbols around one of the seals, but wasn't sure if the random translation was actually correct (Sam calls it brainstorming, and it is useful at times, especially if neither of them know what else to do), "it definitely looks like traversable wormhole metric, or at least part of it."

"Traversable wormhole," Sam repeats dumbly, and Martin almost flinches and looks up, seemingly noticing his audience for the first time.

"Oh!" He blushes furiously and quickly steps away from the table. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry, I just... get that way sometimes when I see quantum mechanics and maths stuff." Denny is frowning at him, and Martin sends him an apologetic glance before apologizing again. "I'm sorry, many-worlds interpretation is something of a hobby of mine, and half the time I'm thinking about it anyway, so when someone talks to me about it or I see something useful, I sometimes forget myself."

Castiel and Sam share a meaningful look, and Sam says, "It's okay, we wouldn't have it lying around if it were top secret." He glances at Castiel again, then steps forward and says, "Maybe you can tell us more about that over breakfast...?"

Martin seems very excited with the prospect, and that's how Dean finds himself walking with Denny while Martin, Sam and Castiel walk in front of them; because Denny apparently doesn't get much out of a topic like that either.

It's not that Dean doesn't understand it, he just... well, he probably really doesn't understand it; he never cared to find out, because he had never cared much for about everything in maths that was complicated enough he'd need to use his brain to understand it to begin with, and that isn't going to change unless absolutely necessary.

Meaning, if maths can get him out of this world, then so be it, but Sam has always been much better with that sort of thing, and what he can't do in that area, Dean certainly won't be able to do either.

Once they're seated at a table with their trays of food, Denny shares a look with Dean, and they glance at Castiel, Sam and Martin who are still deep into their conversation (Dean occasionally hears phrases like "quantum field theory", "universal wavefunction" and "cosmic inflation theory"; they give him a headache so he doesn't try to think about them). Denny raises one eyebrow and then says "So, tomorrow is an exhibition. Are you guys interested in attending?"

Dean tries not to blink and look surprised and thinks _fuck_. So far he managed to cheat his way through, but this is the kind of conversation that could trip him up, because he has no idea what the fuck the guy is talking about. "I don't know what Cas' plans are," he says carefully. "Maybe?"

Denny nods and dips cookies into his milk with coffee only to suck it out of them, it's pretty disgusting. "The first one is mostly artistic; we currently have a Creative Rope Bondage Master residing within our walls, she regularly exhibits her newest creations on a couple of volunteers. The children get to attend that one too, if they want. The second one is a regular low-level exhibition, and the third one is by a pretty hardcore sado-masochistic couple, I'm not sure if that's for you."

Yeah, Dean has pretty much no idea what Denny is talking about. Creative Rope Bondage; what the hell is that even supposed to mean? As far as he knows, bondage means tying people up or tying them to things like bedposts – or other kinds of posts for less fun occasions, it's not like Dean doesn't have a lot of experience with that as well. But that's it. How creative can you get with that? Except, of course, having tried out a few things and having some experience at being a hostage doesn't he's an expert, and it seems he can learn a lot in this world to change that. He just isn't too sure he wants that, especially that "hardcore sado-masochistic couple"-stuff; to him, it sounds a lot like torture made enjoyable (or perhaps not even that; maybe it's just torture being enjoyed by the one who's being tortured as well), and he wouldn't be able to deal with that. At all.

But it seems today he has, for once, a little luck; before he has to reply, a really pretty Hispanic woman appears and sits next to Denny, brushing elbows. She nods at Dean, her eyes coming to rest on his neck (where the collar is, he can't help but think with discomfort) for a moment before she looks away again. "Larrin has officially declared Braylen missing," she says unceremoniously, and Denny's mood immediately and visibly shifts.

"So I guess we'll meet some of your colleagues soon," he says, nodding at Dean, then turns back to the woman before Dean can even think of how to react. "Castiel, Dean and Sam are agents," he explains, and the woman raises her eyebrow in the apparently inter-universal 'well duh' expression. Denny raises his eyebrow back at her, looks at Dean and says, "Dean, this is my sister Elena. Elena, this is Dean."

Dean nods at her and says, "Nice to meet you." She gifts him with a smile and a nod in return, and then the conversation is apparently over for them, because both Denny and Elena stay silent and eat their food. Next to the three of them, Martin, Castiel and Sam are oblivious to it all; they're completely off in their own world. How Castiel knows anything about maths and physics is anyone's guess, but whatever, it's not like Dean knows anything about it, and if it's going to help them, he's just glad that somebody else than Sam understands it. Sam sometimes gets a little annoying when he's the only one who knows, believes or understands something. (To be fair, the reverse is also true.)

When Denny and Dean are done with eating, they share a glance and then simultaneously turn to look at Martin, Castiel and Sam, who are talking about entanglement. Dean is pretty sure they don't mean sex, bondage or anything similarly fun. Normally, he'd now make a comment about the nerd conference, but he isn't sure his usual snark would be appreciated in this world, and for once he actually cares. This parallel universe thing really makes him uncomfortable; he only hopes they'll get back as quickly as possible. Sure, this place appears to be peaceful, but damn. He'd actually prefer his current situation to this; at least in their world, he knows the rules, even if they suck ass. But playing without really knowing the game, the rules or the other players is imminently more terrifying than anything their current lives are dishing out, and he's well aware that thoughts like that can only lead to disaster. Hell still trumps them all in awfulness, at least. Knowing he's been there and, while having been damaged beyond repair, at least came out vaguely resembling the person he had been while going in is strangely comforting, even though he does know that, given enough time, he would've become a demon like everyone who went through hell. You don't get out unless you're a demon and very, very lucky, that much he has learned.

"Martin," Denny suddenly interrupts the three, sounding half amused, half exasperated, when it doesn't look like they're going to come to a halt anytime soon. "You do remember our appointment with Shibela?"

Martin blinks, clearly having forgotten, and says "I do now." Then he blushes, grimaces and sends them all an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, I totally got lost in the topic, I didn't mean to ramble."

"It was very interesting," Castiel says blandly, and where anybody else would sound completely dishonest and bored, he just sounds earnest. It must be an angel thing, and maybe has something to do with his total lack of humor (though, okay, that's not true, Castiel seems to be starting to develop some kind of quirky humor, and then there's the sarcasm that Dean totally digs).

"Yeah, we can't tell you, but your insights have helped us," Sam adds, equally earnest. He really is having fun with this secret agents thing.

At that, Martin smiles and only says, "I'm glad." He and Denny say their good-byes and leave them at the table. Dean shares a look with Sam and Castiel, about to get up as well, when Elena, whose presence he totally forgot, suddenly speaks up.

"Some people think you guys might have something to do with Braylen's disappearance," she addresses Castiel, who raises an eyebrow. "I don't think so, though. He was last seen about twenty minutes before you three were found, and you simply didn't have the time to murder him _and_ hide his corpse well enough even people who practically grew up in the rock field couldn't find him."

Castiel doesn't say anything, just looks at her unflinchingly; Dean's been at the end of such looks more than once, and he knows how hard it is to return them for long. Elena manages for long enough to almost impress him, before the corner of her mouth tilts up. She rises, picks up her tray and leaves with a nod at the three of them.

"Well," Dean murmurs, but doesn't say anything else. They're in public, and you never know who might be looking or listening.

"We should return to our rooms," Castiel says, and they do just that.

As soon as Dean has closed the door behind them, Sam turns around and looks at them with his hangdog expression he wears whenever he feels responsible or guilty (most of the time the two go hand in hand with him anyway). "I think she might be right," he blurts, and Dean blinks.

"Now wait just a damn minute, Sam, just because-", he starts, but Sam interrupts him.

"Dean, seriously. He was apparently just in the area we popped up in; what if that spell that sent us here pulled him in because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time? It just doesn't make sense from- well, Martin just explained about how the particles of one universe will always strain to stay within that universe, and how universes are reluctant to let go of their particles; what if our universe took this Braylen as an exchange for us?"

Seriously, Dean has no idea what his brother is even talking about, he's stumped. He doesn't even know how that works that particles want to stay in their universe; what? How do they do that? Aren't all particles just the same? But he knows better than to ask; he'd either get a rambly explanation that would clear up exactly nothing, or a look and a sarcastic, overly simplistic metaphor. Sam can be a real bitch about his more extensive academical knowledge sometimes.

"It is a possibility," Castiel admits before Dean can dig up some sort of reaction (he's not sure what Sam wants from him; it's not like they can do anything even if it did happen that way, and it's not really their fault either). Castiel seems to share that opinion, at least, because he says, "But it's not like we can do anything about it either way. The best we can do is find a way back so if Braylen indeed got replaced for us, we can send him back if he's still alive."

Sam doesn't look happy about it, but Castiel is right, and they go back to sit at the damn table. A couple more days like this, and Dean's going to go stir-crazy; he only has so much patience, and the fact that they're spending all their time indoors isn't helping any. Research every now and then is perfectly fine, but not for a week straight. And ever since- well, Dean has developed a preference for wide open spaces and especially the sky.

"So did this physics stuff you guys were talking about with Martin help any?", he asks, collecting the board he has been working on before breakfast, not quite willing to go back to it just yet.

"Maybe," Castiel says.

Sam elaborates: "It will probably be very useful later, when we start interpreting the spells instead of just trying to decipher them." He's wearing his enthusiastic face, the one Dean hasn't seen on him in so long, he can't even remember anymore. It surprises him, how happy it makes him to see Sam like this again. "It's pretty awesome actually, I never considered that spells could actually have explanations and roots in actual science, it's just, you know, _magic_. Nobody thinks about the why because it's magic, and magic is magical, right? Except this might be- Dean, this could explain _everything_." He turns around to Castiel. "Doesn't it, Castiel?"

Castiel looks up from where he's bend over his board. He tilts his head and says, "It's... a sufficient explanation, I suppose."

Sam's face falls, and he- he seriously pouts. It's moments like these why Dean keeps referring to his brother as "his sister Samantha", seriously. "Only sufficient?"

"To explain love and falling in love with chemical reactions is sufficient as well, isn't it?" Castiel raises an eyebrow. "And yet it explains nothing."

Sam frowns, then sighs and concedes. "It would've been too easy anyway."

They go back to translating while Sam tries to make sense of what they come up with in the light of Martin's new insights – or at least Castiel goes back to translating. Dean finds he can't concentrate, because all he can think about is Castiel and love, and how Castiel knows that chemical reactions don't explain a thing.

He doesn't know why his thoughts keep wandering back to that. Maybe it's because he has never considered that Castiel might have had a life before this – a life not resolving around heaven and following orders and whatever else angels do. And Castiel must have – Dean can't imagine him being able to judge that love is more than chemical reactions without having experienced it himself, and he can't imagine two angels to share that kind of passion. Which, of course, doesn't mean it's impossible, but judging from what he has seen of the angels interaction, it seems unlikely. The relative ease with which Castiel and Uriel switched positions from superior to subordinate as well as the efficiency with which they decided and tried to carry out Anna's death tells a lot.

Of course, it might also merely tell him that even after all this time, he still doesn't really understand angels, much less Castiel, but seriously, this is really not the time to think about it. He has way more important things to do than ponder Castiel's love life, existent or not.

Not that re-invoking memories of hell and the torture he suffered there is any easier, but at least it's more productive. Somewhat.

They go to have lunch on their own, Sam and Castiel discussing the equations they're trying to build upon Martin's explanations and how they might correlate to the interpretations of the spells the guys who sent them here – inadvertently or not – used. Dean just sits next to them and listens to the hum of their voices, listens to what people around them are talking about. The main topics of conversation snippets that he can decipher center either around the missing boy, Brayden, or the exhibition this evening; exhibitions are apparently something of a special event here and people seem pretty excited. Dean listens to a whole conversation between two friends or siblings that are sitting behind him; they discuss pain and the pleasure one can gain from it. The boy – he sounds like he's in his late teens, early twenties at most – thinks that it's very dangerous, but the girl (she sounds older, but it's considerably harder to tell with girls) apparently has more experience and is trying to convince him that, apart from a few black sheep that you can find anywhere, people with sadistic needs are just like any other people. "They just enjoy inflicting pain, and there's nothing wrong with that as long as they don't enjoy inflicting it upon somebody unwilling, is there?", she says. "I mean, if both participating parties like it and fully consent, how can there be anything wrong with it?"

"Yeah, but how can you tell if somebody really likes it?", the boy returns. "I mean, the point is that they don't like like it, but still like it, if you know what I mean, isn't it? They say no and protest and all that, but still gain pleasure from it somehow. But how can you tell if the protest is real or not?"

"Dummy," the girl says. "Are you for real? Have you seriously never had sex before or what? That's what _safewords_ are for. And it's not like people get jumped in the streets or something, if you go to a party or club you know perfectly well what to expect depending what kind of party or club it is you're going to."

The boy has no reply to that, and Dean can't think of anything either. It still seems wrong to him somehow, but he can't really tell why; he just knows that there's something wrong with people who get pleasure, any kind of pleasure, out of hurting somebody, and there's something wrong with those who enjoy being deliberately hurt it as well. But maybe, he starts to realize, it's not a morally sort of wrongness as long as both parties fully consent; maybe it's alright if really both are into it and there's safety measures and all that. Some people still think masturbating is wrong, after all, and it clearly isn't.

It's a weak comparison, he knows, but it's the only one he can find, and it still fits, he figures.

So Dean, tentatively, concedes that it's okay to be in a mutually consenting and satisfying relationship that might look abuse from the outside, but isn't; it doesn't mean however that he will ever be able to watch. Alistair had liked what Dean had been doing to him, he knows, and he will never be able to forget that, to forget how it felt to be on both sides of the rack, to be violated either way.

"Dean?"

Great. It seems that this is a time for mental strolls for him, instead of the absolute vigilance he should practice.

Scowling at himself, he looks up. "What is it?"

Sam and Castiel share a look, and Sam shifts a little in his seat. "I just asked if you're finished. So we can go back?"

Instead of replying, Dean gets up and takes away his tray; he just knows that behind his back, Castiel and Sam are sharing a look, and it makes him scowl harder.

He's leading them back to their rooms, and once there, he purses his lips and says, "Have you heard of this exhibition thing this evening?"

They haven't, having been too busy with maths and physics and spells, and so Dean explains. "Denny told me, it's a sort of... I don't know, he said there'll be three parts, the first part with a "Creative Rope Bondage Master", I have no idea what the fuck that is, the second part is a "regular exhibition", he said, and the third part a hardcore SM thing. Apparently, even children will attend the first one, everyone seems to be pretty excited about it all. I think we should go."

"I don't understand, what is a exhibition?", Sam asks, wearing a puzzled frown, and Dean shrugs.

"I don't know either, and it's not like I could ask. He seemed to expect me to know what it is, everyone seems to, and if even children attend it, it can't be too bad, can it? At least that first part. We can see when we're there if we want to stay for the second one. But there's no way I'll stay and watch the third one."

Sam's frown deepens, and Dean just knows that in his head, he's whining about the lack of information and detail, but it's not like he feels any more comfortable than his brother with the unexpected or unaccounted for. Experience just has taught them that surprises very rarely end well. (Dean is trying really hard not to think about how comfortable Sam really is with this whole bondage and collar thing.)

Castiel doesn't have anything to say on the matter at all; when Sam asks him, he shrugs and succinctly says, "It's not like we will gain any knowledge sitting around and speculating. Our goal is to be as unconspicuous as possible, and our position already is compromised because of our sudden appearance as well as our perceived status and the mystery involved with that; we can't really afford to be too busy to attend an apparently important event. It will make people only more suspicious."

Which, of course, is absolutely right, and so Sam concedes and they agree to try to find out during dinner when they have to be where, as well as, if at all possible, the dress code, if it exists. "But at least there we have a sort of freebie; all our clothes are borrowed anyway, it's the perfect excuse," Sam says, sounding a mix of relieved and satisfied.

Then, he proceeds to explain to Dean whatever the heck he and Castiel have been conferencing about for the past couple of hours; Dean understands maybe one word out of ten, but not really the overall topic. He's a more hands-on sort of person; he doesn't like sitting around and thinking about stuff when he might as well go out and do it and see if it works. But he's long since learned that Sam's lectures are more for his own benefit than Dean's; he likes to summarize stuff so he'll remember it better, and he has learned not to expect much input from Dean. As long as he can continue deluding himself with thinking that Dean is listening (and, more importantly, understanding and if applicable agreeing) he's happy, and Dean has figured out the perfect pattern of grunting and nodding and puzzled looks to give that impression, going by a combination of Sam's tone of voice, gestures and breath pattern. He has a lot of practice.

When he's done, Dean gives him his usual unimpressed look and says, "Great. I'm glad you have worked that out, Sammy. Now what do we do?"

Turns out, they do what they do every evening: try to take over the world. Or something.

They're lucky it's going better now, because Dean is slowly reaching the end of his rope. It's not like he was in hell long enough to learn any useful stuff, and Castiel has apparently been studying everything Dean did so far, so he can translate the symbols Dean has already (possibly) deciphered. And Dean is glad about it. He's perfectly fine being adequate, but not necessary, especially where this is concerned.

The timing is extraordinarily great, actually; not only is there not much left Dean hasn't inadvertently taught Castiel, but also is his concentration waning. Spending a couple of days in a row doing nothing but sitting around and trying to conjure highly unpleasant memories are taking its toll; he's getting restless, frustrated. He hasn't started lashing out yet, but it's only a matter of time if he doesn't get to _do_ something, and soon. So actually, he can be grateful that this evening there will be a sort of break in the from of the exhibition.

So, making use of the break he can now get away with, he walks around the room until Sam snaps at him for distracting him; then he goes into the bathroom and does some stretches and crunches. After that, he takes a bath – it makes him feel silly and kind of girly, except for the last one here, he can't remember the last time he actually took a bath (he can remember when he was a kid, with his mom warming the towel, but he still can't- he can't imagine there ever coming a time where he will be able to remember without it hurting). Afterwards he feels considerably better; the exercise eased him greatly. The thought of going back to the table and the boards still makes him itch, but at least it doesn't make him want to tear his hair out anymore.

However, it turns out he managed to waste the whole afternoon; by the time he finally comes out of the bathroom and Sam has finished giggling about it and making pointed remarks, they decide they might as well get an early dinner. It turns out it was a good idea too, because on the way there they encounter Larrin, who sends them a surprisingly big grin. "Braylen is back," she says, and that explains the jubilant expressions in everyone's faces when they get into the dining hall; Dean is relieved. While Elena's logic had been sound about them having anything to do with the boy's disappearance, most people aren't exactly logical, especially not where children are concerned, and the situation could quickly have turned dire for them. That at least kept them from being accused of child abduction or murder anytime in the near future. Dean does _not_ like being mobbed, and he isn't sure how much better being mobbed by these people instead of demons would be.

Sam takes over the conversation; he's extraordinarily relieved and happy that the boy is back and asks a lot of questions. Larrin isn't telling them anything, partly because she doesn't know herself ("He's with his parents, and he said nobody took him away; anything else is of secondary importance and can be taken care of later.") and partly because she doesn't seem to think they have a right to know. (Sam asks how old Braylen is, and she replies with a counter-question about what they currently are doing and how their mission is going that Sam answers in stammers, and that is that.) It's mostly tactics; it isn't like the boy's age is of any importance, but she's making a point, and it comes across.

Everybody in the mess seems to be extraordinarily happy; there's lots of hugging and enthusiastic discussions and many smiles. It makes Dean realis]ze that neither now nor before were they in a position to observe normal social interaction in this dimension; before, people were worried about the missing boy, and now they're happy about his return. Not that he cares much; Braylen's disappearance had started to act as a disadvantage for them, though not enough yet to truly inconvenience or even endanger them. His re-appearance, though, works considerably to their advantage; people will accknowledge that they had nothing to do with it after Braylen's report, and that will help ease any suspicions and questions for a longer while than it would've if the boy had never gone missing. They're lucky, actually.

They're also lucky Sam is able to stretch the topic into exhaustion; he's the sort of person that can do that, connect to people and make them tell him their life stories, and Dean has never envied that. Frankly, he doesn't want people to bother him with shit like that; all he wants from them is what he needs to further the case, and that's it. His charm reaches far enough for that, most of the time.

Somewhere in the middle of the meal, Larrin's subs join them; they apparently have jobs other than be pretty and sex slaves. Dean is slowly starting to figure out that the fact that someone wears a collar does not reflect upon anything else but the fact that they like to submit in the bedroom. There's one guy walking by that looks like he could squash him with his little finger, and he's wearing a collar. It's difficult to wrap his head around, but it's unexpectedly open-minded and tolerant. He shouldn't be surprised, but he is. In their world, such a thing is impossible; it's already hard enough for a guy to admit he's not completely homosexual without him being associated with all sorts of ridiculous cliches. To openly admit that you like to be spanked or whipped by your partner? It's inconceivable, except for probably in private clubs, but Dean hasn't been in any.

He still feels uncomfortable wearing a collar, though.

Suddenly he hears his name, and shortly thereafter Castiel puts his hand on his shoulder; he looks up. Once again, he hasn't really been listening to the conversation going on around the table, and it appears Larrin noticed; she seems to have said something about it, because Castiel replies with a finality that forbids any further questions, "We are going through a difficult time right now, professionally speaking."

Which is probably the understatement of the century. It makes Dean laugh; the apocalypse is a 'difficult time' indeed.

Larrin glances at him, then nods and says, "So you're probably not coming to the exhibition, are you?"

They actually don't have to anymore, Dean figures; with the boy being back, people aren't going to pay much attention or mind, and hopefully they'll be gone by the time that freeby wears off. It would be wiser from a strategic standpoint, though, and Castiel seems to agree. He says, "Actually, we intend to. We're looking forward to viewing the work of your Creative Rope Bondage Master."

Larrin smiles. "We all are. I'll send someone to come pick you up; you'll probably get horribly lost if you try to find the theater on your own. This place is many things, but easily to overview, it is not."

"Thank you," Castiel says, and shortly afterwards they split up because apparently one does put on special clothes for the event; Larrin says they have to get dressed and there will be someone to pick them up in about half an hour.

Castiel puts his hand in the small of Dean's back, and it reminds Dean that they keep forgetting and really should touch more frequently in public. Simultaneously, it distracts him so much he almost takes a wrong turn a couple of times. He doesn't understand why; a male's touch isn't that new to him, he has experimented in his time. His philosophy where sex is concerned has always been to try something before he turns his nose on it. But still, his brain gets hung-up on the fact that Castiel's hand is broad and warm, fingers spread out, the tips grazing the swell of his buttocks.

Thing is, Dean isn't usually one to notice such details. He's the typical male; he enjoys the picking and determining of a partner, the back and forth of flirting, the way both parties know where it will lead, if it will lead anywhere. He likes touching and being touched, but isn't one for hours of foreplay; once he gets started, he pretty much wants to finish as soon as possible and not spend hours talking or doing nothing much. Every touch, every gesture and word has one goal: to get both him and his partner off. He isn't one to touch just for the sake of touching; everything has a purpose, even if that purpose is to persuade. And normally, when he's on the receiving end of such touches, it only makes him impatient, not to mention that his partners usually are of the same frame of mind as he is.

If it were that kind of touch, well, that'd be another matter altogether. But it's not; it's not innocent, the way one might expect an angel's touch to be if one didn't know them, but it's also not meant to arouse or lead to more. The hand doesn't slide lower, the fingertips don't dig in. No, Castiel just keeps his hand resting there, and it's warm, and if it's just a show for the benefit of their cover, then why doesn't he let go as soon as they're out of eyesight?

He does let go once they enter their rooms, though, and Dean doesn't know if he's relieved or regrets it, which is alarming. But fuck that; he has so much shit to think about already, he deliberately decides to put this one aside. He can't afford to be any more distracted than he already is, and as little control as he does seem to have over his mind these days, this, at least, he can still decide.

They put on different clothes, if just for the sake of giving the impression that they tried to dress up; Sam looks like he's trying to decide whether to ask for clothes advice or not. Thankfully, he does know Dean rather well and decides that it's not worth the lifetime of teasing comments it will earn him.

Castiel, unfortunately, either doesn't care or isn't aware of the utter girlyness of it all; he stands in front of the pile of clothes Sam folded for him that first day and stares at them, looking utterly lost. "Dean," he says, and Dean grimaces. "Aw man, really?", he whines before Castiel can say anything more, then sighs and looks at the clothes as well. "You should probably go for the leather pants, and, hm. Fuck." It's not like Dean spends much time thinking about his own wardrobe; he normally just throws something on that smells vaguely clean and isn't ripped too bad. "Something blue? Or black. I don't know, Cas. If we do something wrong, we can claim cultural ignorance, maybe, or say that we have nothing else. Which is even true."

"Thank you, Dean," Castiel says earnestly. Dean pointedly turns away when he starts pulling off the shirt he's been wearing for the past two days and goes to check out his own pile of clothes. It's mostly for his own sake because he's pretty sure Cas wouldn't care either way if he watched him undress, but he's confused enough already simply because Castiel touched him, and he won't screw himself up even more by giving himself footage for any potential fantasies. Better to be safe than sorry, right? Right. He'll keep telling himself that.

He gets dressed as well, and then they go into the joint room to wait for Sam, who, it turns out, went for the leather pants shirt combo as well, though frankly, Dean is surprised that there are leather pants long enough in the world to fit Sam without making him look like an adolescent after a growth spurt.

While they wait for whoever is coming to pick them up to lead them to the theater, they go over everything they have worked at so far; there's still a bunch of seals they haven't fully translated yet, and then, of course, there is the spells that they haven't heard and probably will never be able to figure out how to reverse unless they hear them. They haven't talked about the spells yet; it's a huge downer and could very well be their downfall. But Dean knows well enough that spells usually are more of an underlining of what the seals say or a sort of switch on button; at least with complicated spells. There's no such thing as words that are magic without any help usually born of magical blood, but the seals get activated by a certain combination of words, as well as intent and a whole lot of other small factors (gender, mood, age, origin of the caster, among others) that might or might not play into the whole spell as well. But from the seals and symbols one can usually extrapolate at least what the spell is supposed to achieve in general, if not in detail, and that's the foundation of what they need to figure out how to get back.

All in all, it's just pretty fucking complicated, and they're pretty lucky to have Castiel with them, who is like a walking library. Enochian he knows inside out, as well as most human-created stuff; the hell stuff Dean has an inkling of, at least enough to guess what the rest is supposed to mean altogether. It's not very reliable, all in all, but it's all they have and can do, and they're pretending that it's going to be enough. It has to be enough.

Denny and Martin are the ones who come to pick them up again; they are dressed up considerably more than Castiel, Dean or Sam, with jewelery and fine cloths (at least Dean thinks they're fine, not that he can actually tell; they just look shiny or expensive or both and like nothing he would ever wear, ever). "I love Theodora's work, Martin tells them excitedly on the way there. Dean makes a conscious effort to listen this time; Castiel is holding his hand, and it's distracting, but this is something he actually cares to know more about. This whole exhibition business is completely weird; he has no idea what to expect. They're probably not going to watch people have sex, he doesn't think, at least not for that first part; children will attend that one, and Dean doubts that any cultures could be different enough to consider it normal to have children watch people have sex. Though this might as well be one of the things he'd never expect because it's just so unthinkable in their perception of right and wrong; maybe nobody here finds anything weird about it. He sincerely hopes not. He's not sure how he'd react.

The theater they're being led to looks pretty much like a cinema, except round; "Amphitheater," Sam whispers into his ear, as if he knows what the fuck is so special about it. He has some vague memories of history lessons and for some reason thinks about lions, but, whatever. And Denny was right; there are children mulling about. Older ones (the youngest one Dean spots is maybe twelve? And the correct term would then be teenager, but to him, twelve-year-olds totally count as children), but still children. That hopefully means that the first part will be rather easy and tame.

Denny suggest they go sit somewhere in the top rows, because, he says, many are going to leave after the first part anyway and they can find closer seats then if they want to, and the top row is the only one that still has room enough for all of them.

They sit with Sam between the two pairs, Castiel and Denny sitting at the respective far ends; maybe it's just chance, but it might also be on purpose, some sort of sexist thing like how men used to not let women walk on the part of the sidewalk closer to the street. (He only knows about that because he once had sex with a Women Studies major who became really chatty when they were done. It's about the only thing she blathered on about that stuck, because it had seemed so weird to him.)

Looking around, Dean sees lots of people clad in leather, some of them showing more skin than would be appropriate in their own world unless in clubs or something like that; certainly not something where you expect to encounter children. But apart from a couple of see-through shirts, there's nothing he'd consider indecent.

He does notice some guys wearing dresses, though, and more than one wears more complicated make-up than just eyeliner; it sort of weirds him out, but well. He figures he should've expected it, probably, considering how gender plays a secondary role at best in this society. All in all, it's not too bad; Dean isn't exactly comfortable, but not so uncomfortable he wants to get out as quick as possible either. Yet. The exhibitions haven't started already, after all.

To his left, Sam and Martin are in some kind of conversation; something about robes, and he maybe should listen in and come to his brother's rescue if necessary, but he figures Sam is old enough to take care of himself. He's faking along well enough, from what he can tell, and Castiel is putting his hand on Dean's knee and leaning in and, whoa. This is not the first time their faces are this close, and that in itself is a sort of disturbing realization; he had never seriously considered their interaction from this perspective before, but he maybe should have. It's different now, because they aren't fighting, provoking, pushing each other's buttons, and mostly because they're pretending to be a couple. "You should relax," Castiel murmurs, voice low like usual, but Dean _feels_ it, and that's different. "Dean."

He takes one look around, and it's true; he can tell couples apart from the crowd immediately because of the body contact. There's people leaning into each other, holding hands and pressed together; there's some sitting in each other's laps, and there's even a couple that are lying with their heads pillowed on their partner's thighs. Lots of body contact, all in all; even Martin, as a quick look tells him, is leaning against Denny, who is cradling his hand and talking to his sister Elena, who apparently came to sit next to him at one point.

Dean clears his throat and takes the hand that is still resting on his knee, entwines their fingers. He studiously avoids looking at Castiel while he tries to tilt his body so it looks like he's leaning into him without them actually touching. It's awkward and embarrassing, and, seriously. How did it come to this, with them having to pretend to be in some sort of sexual relationship?

Castiel's voice sounds reproachful and a little disappointed when he says his name again, and then, when Dean keeps staring straight ahead, he sighs. "If I had known it would be so hard for you to pretend to like me, I would've made up a different story."

 _That_ makes Dean turn his head, and Castiel's face is calm and expressionless, but he knows better. "I don't- Cas, seriously, shit." He knows he's blushing horribly, he can feel it, and it's embarrassing, but he doesn't turn his head away, only lowers his gaze a little to escape Castiel's magnetizing eyes. "Don't make me talk about my feelings, man, but. I mean I- it's not- I don't _hate_ you or anything, I just- I've never been one for PDA, and it's not like I have much practice at this actual relationship business. Fuck." Did he say embarrassing? Clearly, he was wrong. This whole conversation is completely mortifying, and he wants it to be over. Cas isn't going to get anything else out of him on that matter, especially not right here right now, while they're waiting for some people to get tied up in front of them or something.

"Dean," Castiel says again, and this time he sounds amused, and when did his life turn into a damn chick flick where he's the heroine and Castiel is the male lead who- who is _cupping his head and leaning in and-_

It's quite possible Dean's brain short-circuits, because he loses the couple of seconds it takes Castiel to lean in – slowly, so slowly; he's giving Dean amble time to back out, only Dean sort of blackouts, because all of a sudden they're kissing.

Some absent part of his brain is laughing hysterically, or possibly screaming; it's just so fucking typical that he'd be here, in this situation, sitting in a damn amphitheater in a parallel universe and waiting for an exhibition that will show people being tied up and quite possibly also having sex later on, pretending to be Castiel's submissive boyfriend (called demon, and that's just still hysterical in a not wholly funny way, probably will always be), wearing a damn collar with his name on it and being kissed by him, by an ex-angel who turned against heaven for him and is now fighting against the devil and the apocalypse with him. His life is so fucked up.

And Castiel's lips are soft and unassuming, more brushing than pushing, pressure gentle, and either Castiel has no idea at all how kissing works or he knows perfectly well and is brilliant at it. No matter which it is, Dean's breathless, he's quite possibly not breathing at all; Castiel's palm is on his cheek, warm and broad, thumb almost at the corner of his eye and fingers cupping his jaw, under his ear. Maybe he's been held like that before, but if so, he can't remember, and certainly not since he has been built anew by the very person that is kissing him now.

As quickly as it began, it's over again; Castiel is pulling back and Dean opens his eyes, having no recollection when he closed them, whether he kissed back, what the fuck just happened apart from the obvious. It's disorienting, and his cheek feels cold when Castiel takes his hand away.

He blinks and takes a sharp breath; he feels a little dizzy and he has no idea if it's because of the kiss or because he held his breath; possibly, it's a combination of both.

It's not his first kiss with a man – hell, he's done way more with men than just kiss more than once; he had had a phase where for a while, he hadn't even looked at girls, though it might've been mostly to piss of his father – but he isn't delusional enough to consider it anything else than a part of courtship. And it's highly possible this courtship has been going on for longer than he was aware; sure, you can interpret most interaction between two people as sexual if you want to, but this is not sex. It's something else. Dean doesn't know why or how, but he knows that he and Castiel, they could never be just sex. There's way too much between them, around them; it's impossible to pull them apart enough to claim their intercourse is with "no strings attached". They've been entangled since their first meeting, played a tug of war, and sometimes Dean had the upper hand, sometimes Castiel, occasionally they were on the same level. Lately, it's been the latter most of the time; they're working together towards the same goal, no other loyalties in the way to distract them anymore on either side.

Castiel had been, understandably, a focal point in his life from before they even formally met; from the moment on Castiel dragged him out of hell and put him into his restored body, the only sign of his existence a handprint on Dean's shoulder.

But it hadn't been like that, back then, he's sure of that, at least. It's disquieting; he has no idea when it changed, when they went from working against each other to working along, working with each other. They must have, at one point, because otherwise Castiel wouldn't have left everything that had ever meant something to him for Dean. Maybe it started then, in that Green Room, when Castiel decided that betraying Dean was worse than betraying Heaven. Maybe- maybe it had started even before that; maybe that's why they took Castiel and 'reformed' him for trying to warn Dean. Actually, in the face of recent events, that's starting to look more and more likely.

There's a tug on his hand as Castiel pulls it into his lap, wraps his other hand around it so it's captured between both of his. "Stop thinking so much," Castiel says quietly, looking down at their hands, and Dean licks his lips – tastes _Castiel_ – and takes a breath and decides it doesn't matter, not right now.

He doesn't look around to see who might be looking at them, doesn't check to see if Sam noticed. Not only because he doesn't want to deal with that right now, but also because it would feel weirdly intrusive; it's private, this whatever it is between them, and they really should've picked a better place, but obviously they didn't, if there even was anything like a conscious choice involved to begin with. Honestly, he doesn't really think there was; if Castiel had been planning this, planning to kiss him, he would've done it at a different, more private moment, probably in their bedroom, someplace where they weren't watched, but where they also could hide from each other if necessary. Or at least, that's how Dean would've planned it, if he had planned anything. If he had known there was something to make plans for.

But maybe he's occasionally more oblivious than he likes to admit, because he's not at all surprised, and that means that at least on some subconscious level, he had known and expected this. Which, well. He had no idea how to deal with it all, if he even had to. He's so tired of dealing with shit, thinking about stuff, remembering things, and he figures he deserves a break.

So he sits back as much as possible and tilts his body until his shoulder is leaning against Castiel's, waiting for the action to begin. Next to him, Castiel looks down at their hands and quirks a smile.

The first exhibition turns out to be something like a fashion show (so Dean might've watched some America's Next Top Model reruns late at night; nobody has to ever find out), except the models are normal people with healthy looking bodies instead of these tall, thin girls on TV, and they don't seem in a hurry to get out of the center of attention. Also, they're naked, which, well. It makes Dean a little uneasy, what with the children present, but on the other hand, he doesn't think there is anything actually harmful about seeing naked people who aren't doing anything except walk around naked; nudists do that all the time after all. The ropes aren't meant to tie them anyplace either; they're wound around their bodies in patterns, shaping them; it looks very complicated, and frankly, Dean doesn't get where the use is, except that it looks pretty. They don't seem to confine their movements much either; some of them do some stretches and acrobatics to drive that point home. All in all, it's pretty much like a fashion show, except that the woman who apparently made up the complicated tying methods says something about her works. It seems like most of them want to feel like they're confined without actually being restricted; at least that's what she says. "Jason asked for something to wrap around his shoulders that his dom could put him in quickly in the morning, but that he wouldn't be able to get out of on his own," for example. Okay, to each his own, or something. Dean doesn't see the point, but whatever. He doesn't have to.

When it's over (applause and all), people start to get up; some leave, many change seats. Sam throws Dean a long look, and Dean knows they would both rather not deal with anything more heavy; if this with naked people was deemed appropriate for children, then that means the next thing will highly likely be about sex, and while Dean isn't averse to watching porn, he is kind of averse to doing it life and in public, sitting next to his baby brother. Actually, that sounds pretty much like the kind of nightmare he might've had before hell.

Sam seems to share his reservations, because he turns to Martin and Denny and starts to make their excuses; he says something about how this was really nice and interesting, but they have to go back to work. He makes it sound like their work is time-sensitive without outright saying so; Dean sort of envies this talent of his, to imply without actually implying. It's pretty useful.

Martin pouts a little, but nods; he has gotten some insight into their work, or at least that's what he thinks, and he's probably making up his own story about them and what they're doing. It's probably the best that could've happened to them, especially considering that Martin helped them, how much they don't know yet.

So they go back to their rooms – Castiel turns out to be not so great with directions when he actually has to walk, but both Dean and Sam have learned early on to memorize the way they've come immediately, since most of their lives they spent in places they've never been to before. You learn to instinctively get around after a while.

Back in their rooms, Sam looks at their work for a moment with knitted brows before he sighs and excuses himself. "I'll just go insane if I keep sitting still and trying to translate random shit that doesn't make sense, I'll go take a bath," he says abruptly, gets some clothes out of his room and vanishes into the bathroom, closing the door after himself firmly very much like Dean had done earlier in the day. Dean purses his lips and, remembering Sam's earlier ribbing, carefully arranges some jokes about girlyness and bubblebaths and pruny skin as a revenge for later.

Except it seems Castiel has other plans for them than to sit down again and get back to work; he puts a hand on Dean's arm, oddly purposefully and slightly awkward, and just looks at him.

Dean returns the look for a moment, thoughts racing; he doesn't have to be a genius to guess that Castiel either wants to not-talk or to talk about not-talking. In other words, this thing between them, and Dean refirms his earlier decision that he has had quite enough thinking and talking in the past few days, thank you. It's been way too long since he's been reckless, and he seriously doesn't want to do any thinking right now, thank you very much.

Not looking away from Castiel, he takes his hand, tugs slightly, then turns around and walks into their bedroom.

Inwardly, he's just a breath away from panicking, because seriously, what the fuck does he think he's doing? Except that's the point, he isn't thinking, he doesn't _want_ to think, he just wants to act. To do take something he didn't even know he wanted, but he does, oh, he does.

Castiel closes the door behind them, and takes a step towards him when Dean turns around so they're standing practically nose to nose, breath intermingling; another "personal space does not exist in our relationship" moment.

"You don't take baths, do you," Dean says inanely, and Castiel raises an eyebrow. "I don't need to do anything," he replies, then frowns slightly. "Except eat, occasionally. Not yet." He looks down for a second before looking up again, meeting Dean's gaze. "Do you really want to talk about my nonexistent bathing habits?"

Dean grimaces, because no, he really does not want to. He cares little, almost not at all, except in the abstract sense that you care about your bedmates overall hygiene, and holy shit, they're going to do this, aren't they? Become bedmates.

The thought is both daunting and exciting, and Dean decides to go with excitement for now. He can freak out later, and he probably will, but not now. Letting go of Castiel's hand, he cups his head very much like Castiel held his earlier in the theater, leans in and presses their lips together.

For one moment, it's only that; they're standing slightly awkwardly, lips dry and unmoving, and then Castiel shifts slightly, tilts his head just so, and whoa. All of a sudden, they're _kissing_ , and it's nothing like their first kiss earlier; they're moving together, and there's nipping and pressure just so, and when Dean almost without making a conscious decision opens his mouth slightly, flutters the tip of his tongue against Castiel's lower lip, Castiel makes a noise low in his throat just shy of a moan.

 _Holy shit_ , Dean thinks, _I made Cas_ moan.

The thought alone is so exciting it steals his breath (or maybe that's Cas, though that's pretty much one in the same), but it pales against the reality; Castiel lets his own tongue come into play, tentative at first, almost shy, but suddenly he's pressing closer, capturing Dean's lower lip between his teeth and pulling, and this time Dean is the one who makes a noise. He follows the movement immediately, thrusts his tongue into Castiel's mouth and Castiel sucks at it, once, twice, before he rubs his tongue against Dean's, and it develops into sort of a fight and sort of a dance, almost an analogy to all their interaction up until now. Dean moans again and pulls Castiel closer, pushes against his body – when did one of his arms wrap around Castiel's waist? He seriously can not remember – and Castiel makes an appreciative noise, sneaks one of his hands underneath Dean's shirt into the small of his back, thrusts their hips together, and holy shit. _Holy shit._

At some point, Castiel must have started pushing and Dean must have walked backwards, because the backs of his thighs bump into the bed, and it takes him a moment to react – because he has to let go of Castiel, and one of his hands is curled in his hair and it's so soft and he doesn't want to – but when he does, he hoists himself up onto it and slides back. Castiel immediately gets with the program, or maybe he's just following Dean; the disapproving noise he makes when Dean separates them as well as the tiny frown he wears when he knee-walks over to where Dean is settling in the pillows might indicate that.

But then Castiel catches up with him and pushes one of his legs between Dean's and raises his knee until it's bracketing Dean's hips. The utter recklessness and breathlessness of before doesn't fade, but the urgency lessens a little; Dean just breathes when Castiel puts one of his hands on the headboard to support himself and with the other cups Dean's jaw again, leans in slowly, eyes intense and lips wet and slightly swollen. Dean has a vague memory of sucking on them, and he wants to do it again; he pushes up and meets Castiel halfway, buries his fingers back into soft, unruly hair as he lets Castiel push him back into the pillows. He lets his other hand run free, slides it underneath Castiel's shirt and up his warm back. He has a thing for backs, the spines' indention, the shoulder blades. And Castiel's back is a beautiful curve, muscles moving under his skin because he's holding his upper body up while at the same time pushing his lower body down, pushing their hips together. It's obvious that Castiel isn't doing this for the first time, but honestly, apart from a tiny selfish part of him that is pouting because he didn't know (as if he has a right to know anything and everything about Castiel), he's glad. He wouldn't have had the patience to deal with uncertainty or hesitance right now.

Castiel carefully bites him again, his tongue this time, then pulls back and immediately moves to nibble at Dean's jaw, nuzzle behind his ear, and the stubble is something he isn't used to anymore, but God, Dean likes it. He moans when Castiel opens his mouth to lick, then suck; his neck is terribly sensitive, and Castiel is using enough pressure not to tickle, it's delectable. He doesn't care if Castiel sucks hard enough to leave a mark. The teeth marks will fade, he thinks hazily when Castiel suddenly moves below the collar and bites into his shoulder. The bruise on the side of his neck won't, at least not for a while.

They're hard, both of them, and all of a sudden, the pressure in his groin becomes unbearable; Dean groans and rips his hands away from Castiel's head and back, pushes them between them to pull at the strings of their pants. Castiel gets with the program immediately and moves to help, pulls impatiently at Dean's pants until they're loose enough so he can shove them down. Dean's not wearing underwear, but it's still unexpected when suddenly, Castiel's hand is on his cock, grip tight and warm. He curses and stills for a moment, losing all focus as waves of pleasure crash through his body, but then Castiel says his name, says "Dean" all ragged a breathless and needy, and oh god. Dean growls and pulls at Castiel's pants, shoves them down even though they're still halfway closed, and Castiel groans and bites him again the moment Dean's fingers close around his dick.

Their hands start moving at the same time, almost out of their own accord, and Dean adjusts his rhythm so they're completely synchronized. Castiel's hips are making tiny rolling movements, like he isn't even aware of it, and he's panting loud in his ear, moaning. Dean wants to tease him, lower the pressure or slow down, but he can't, he just can't. They're frantic, both of them, and he needs this, _they_ need this now, right now.

When he comes, it's like that first breath he drew after dragging himself out of his grave, the first mouthful of cool water he swallowed, soothing his dry throat; his chest is tight and he's almost desperate, feels weirdly weightless and breathless and like this is something he's always needed, always wanted, this, this, this.

Castiel whines and thrusts his hips against Dean, and belatedly he realises he almost let go of Castiel's cock, has stopped moving. He tightens his grip again, but Castiel doesn't stop moving, thrusts into his hand one, two, three times before coming as well, silently, tensing all over and then collapsing, like all the energy drained from his body and he can't possibly hold himself up any longer. Dean knows the feeling.

They're both sweaty, clothes damp and bunched up, the wetness between them rapidly becoming unpleasant, but Dean doesn't think he could move even if he wanted to right now. Castiel's weight on him isn't exactly comfortable; it makes breathing hard, but he doesn't want him to pull away. To prevent Castiel from even starting to think about it, he throws his arm across his back. Castiel pushes his face into Dean's neck and sighs, and Dean falls asleep.

He wakes up because there's a squeezing-pulling feeling he remembers all to well, and then he feels like he's falling, and he _is_ falling, because he lands on the carpet in a completely dark room and hits his head on the floor. He's going to have bruises in a couple of hours.

For a moment, he's dizzy because of it; he hears his brother's startled "What the-" and then somebody switches the light on and he groans and covers his eyes. While he adjusts to the sudden brightness, previous events start to slowly come back to him; he had sex. With Castiel. In their bedroom. It feels like it was only minutes ago, but somebody cleaned him up and straightened his clothing; Castiel, probably (most certainly, because Sam wouldn't ever).

"Dean?"

Squinting and blinking, Dean sits up and looks around, only to find that they're back in their motel room. The motel room they paid for almost week ago, for a week; it feels like it was years ago, but in fact it was only a couple of days. "How the fuck did we get back?", he asks, and Sam, who's crouching next to him while Castiel prowls the room, frowning and touching the empty walls where the symbols used to be, furrows his brows. "Did you just get back?" he returns the question.

Dean frowns. "What do you mean?"

Sam and Castiel share a look. "You were gone, all of a sudden. I went to wake you up, but you had vanished," Castiel explains. He scowls. "I didn't notice a thing, and I should have." Apparently, somebody is in a bad mood, but seriously, Dean would be as well if Castiel had just vanished on him like that, especially under their circumstances.

"We talked about this already," Sam says, half impatient, half placating. "You probably didn't because you weren't in the right universe." He turns back to Dean. "That was pretty much when we figured that that boy, Brayden, probably really got sucked into our universe when we got transported over to his, and he got back because of- well, you know how all particles strain to be with their own particles? We figured the universe was trying to right the wrong the spell did and sent him back, and then take us back too."

"Right." Dean rubs the back of his head and slowly gets up. It just had to happen when he was sleeping, didn't it? He feels like somebody wrought him through a wringer; he's probably even supposed to feel lucky he didn't throw up immediately, like the first time. "So why didn't we get sucked back at the same time as that boy? Because we're bigger?"

"No, no, body mass has nothing to do with it." Sam looks actually enthusiastic about it all, now that it's over. "We figured it's probably to do with magical energy within the body. Brayden has about none at all in him, and you have some because of the being reborn and all that, but I have more because of... well, the demon blood. And Castiel, of course, is an angel, so he probably took the longest. How long were you there after I was gone?"

"Sam got pulled back shortly before lunch," Castiel first explains for Dean's benefit, then answers the question. "Until evening."

Sam nods. "Right." Then he narrows his eyes at his brother. "Now, do I want to know why you look like you had a run-in with a vampire?"

Dean looks at him for one long moment. "Why did we all arrive at the same moment if we got pulled back at different times? And how much time passed here? Is the coven still around?" There's no sign of either the boy's presence nor the collaboration of witches and demons, but also their stuff is still lying around, which means their week isn't over yet and nobody from the motel tried to clear the room yet.

Sam narrows his eyes even further; he looks very silly when he does that, but he allows the completely obvious change of topic. "No idea. Probably because we left at the same time, and probably the same amount as passed there. The time passing isn't actually different between us and them."

"There is no magical presence close. Probably, and yes, that's correct," Castiel agrees, and Dean turns his head to look at him. Castiel returns the look calmly, but with his usual intensity, and for a moment, they just stare at each other.

Then, Sam clears his throat and says, "Well. I don't know about you guys, but I'm going to get rid of this damn collar now, and then I'm going to put on some normal clothes and eat pizza until I throw up."

Dean grins at both of them. "Count me in."

Sam whoops and Castiel – Castiel smiles.


End file.
